#and I have not been treated right by a single one

[lovelytayforce]

I agree with this comment here so hard, I remember getting blasted for calling readers who don't comment "leeches" on R/Fanfiction and I'm glad people are seeing that for what it is even if it's four years late

So, I'm gonna share my own little story here because discord has actively ruined communities for fanfic (and art too I'm not gonna leave y'all out cause my bestie @zoetiger-1106 is an artist who deserves way more praise than she gets!!) The reason why authors and myself see the "I'm shy" shit as an excuse is because the same people will type long ass tirades on Discord without a single thought. YOU CAN EDIT AO3 COMMENTS PEOPLE! If you make a mistake, read it back over and edit it. I've watched it happen in real-time with one of my favorite commenters on my one-shot where they left a short gushing comment and then came back and wrote more, you have no excuse much less reason to go "Man fandom keeps telling me to not critique and I might make a mistake so I will say nothing and consume like the average TV and Streaming consumer who thinks there doing something!" YOU have a lot of power with comments and even those bookmark tags hell just copy-paste what you put into those bookmark tags as a comment I DON'T CARE AT THIS POINT USE THAT LIL BOX TO VOICE SOMETHING!!!! God this is all over the place idc but I read back at those bookmarks, and saw people call my works the best and super cool and I APPRECIATE THAT but tell me! Stop taking the easy route, I been blasted for misunderstandings over comments multiple times cause people take my "tone" terribly cause it sucks being black and emotive online yay and for some reason people think !!!! Is bad? yes, I've been hit with that but I keep on trucking cause fuck whatever some weirdo thinks about exclamation points! Anyways back to discord and why I hate it now, I was in a small fandom, KFP got invited to a discord cause ONE person commented on my works and saw they talked about my fic, and at first, I was happy and people TALKED about my chapters at length in the fanfic channel. I basically was the ONLY ONE posting consistently in that channel and it was great but also I wanted that on my fic to show I improved so guess what I did? I went all in trying to one-up myself to be noticed, to have the acclaim my peers did so it would evolve outside of discord channels but it never happened. And Imma tell y'all now; it never will. Readers prefer convenience over your hard work, they are not gonna take time for you no matter how much you improve. People told me over and over while I looked for solutions for this; "We can't make commenting look like an obligation." "Add more prose, space these paragraphs better" all this just for no one to take the initiative and say something SINCERE towards a work they love on it. I've had to tell my own ex-friends now to go leave comments on works they called Masterpieces while ignoring me. Despite the fact they wanted Gen content in which I WROTE. Or met people who have very weird "I don't review" rules for themselves despite getting motivated by reviews themselves!! We're in a shitty time for creatives much less community cause we don't see each other as humans much less want to treat each others as we desire to be treated. Fanfic readers want to treat authors like showrunners and I hate it. But then your peers will tell you 'not to worry about engagement" and no I am because why is my hit count going up every day but ain't no one saying shit? Make it make sense!! I sat in that community commenting as much as I could, especially on long fics; it wasn't all perfect but I TRIED. I didn't expect shit back but hey it would have been nice but it never happened and again I learned; it never would. That's the real issue, no one wants to give no more; just take and take and take til you're sucked dry of passion worse than any corpo out right now. It's why I thankfully switched fandoms. I got ONE consistent commenter and they are better than that ENTIRE SMALL CLOSED COMMUNITY!! So, to any discord reactor for fanfic you better skip on to that message you made and copy and paste it in this box right here and never utter "I'm shy" ever again cause we see you, our friends tell us about you. You are not as anonymous as you think! 🫵🏽

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[the-gay-trashmouth]

I think something that's bothers me about how folks talk about mouthwashing is how they talk about Swansea. It's either "Swansea would have killed Jimmy immediately if Anya had told him" or "he knew and he did nothing just like curly." because, to me at least it leaves out a lot of nuance to his character and situation. Curly and Swansea are really good foils to each other, one who's got a reputation for being the kind and helpful captain but in the end does nothing to truly protect the crew from Jimmy, and one who's gruff, harsh, and cruel but genuinely tries to help in the background, the reliable mechanic.

(read more for a long Mouthwashing character ramble tw for unwanted pregnancy and SA)

Because Curly is the one with the power. He doesn't take what Jimmy did seriously enough. And you can say that he might not have known fully what Jimmy did, but I think the "I told you" pregnancy conversation and his reaction to Jimmy right before the crash ("come on we'll get through this together. We'll figure it out, you've had hard times before-") are indicators that he knew, but he still chose to stick by his friend and treat it like a "mistake" rather than what it really was.

Now that's my own personal speculation of course, there's no outright scene of her telling him "your best friend assaulted me", but I think there's enough evidence in game through Anya and Curlys interactions to say that he knew, and he knew before Anaya knew she was pregnant. He had a fully functioning ship and four fully functional cryo-pods. He could have at least given Anya more security, kept her far away from him, and at most forced him into the cryopod until they got back to earth. Jimmy STILL had full, uncontrolled access to the cockpit AFTER his freakout with curly. AFTER Anya tells curly she doesn't feel safe with him. AFTER Curly finds out he raped Anya. He's so focused on seeing the good in his friend that he does NOTHING to protect Anya, doesn't strip away not one of Jimmy powers as copilot and consequently endangers her and the rest of the crew.

Curly was the captain, he had the power to relegate Jimmy to the fucking storage closet if he really wanted, at least put him in the cryopod until they got back to earth. In fact, he was the only person above Jimmy in terms of rank on the ship, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to let Jimmy continue as acting co-pilot, chose to comfort him rather than actually confront him. Slides off his weird sexual comments as jokes "So what's this about horses?"

Now let's compare that to Swansea, the mechanic.

We don't have any evidence that Swansea knew about what Jimmy did until after the crash ("it's been her telling me things") where they were trapped with no captain, barely any rations, and a single cryopod that he kept hidden away in the one room he had the key too (and the only room that could lead into medbay). He didn't use it for himself, he makes it clear he didn't intend on getting off this hunk of metal in his last few conversations with Jimmy.

Swansea as the ship's mechanic, was used to fixing things in the background. He didn't need to get along with anyone to keep the ship running, he didn't need people to like him to keep them safe. We see that with Daisuke. He's harsh on him, for sure, but he leaves constant notes to help him learn. Genuinely tries to keep him out of harm's way when it comes to more dangerous jobs. We know Anya was scared of Jimmy getting a weapon, she hid the gun case in the medical bay even knowing she would never get it open. We can see Swansea and Anya off on their own towards the first days after the crash, and Swansea still has a tight grip of the axe weeks and months later.

I personally think that was him trying to keep Jimmy from having access to a weapon. The only time Jimmy gets the axe while Swansea is alive is when Anya Specifically asks him to use it to get medical supplies. I don't think that's a coincidence.

Swansea, like any good mechanic, was quietly trying to keep things running out of Jimmy's sight. It's not until everyone is dead or dying that he snaps, that he finally takes direct action. But it was too little too late.

Both Curly and Swansea thought they were doing the right thing, helping in their own way. Curly genuinely wanted to see the good in Jimmy, wanted it to just be some challenge they could overcome, but in doing so he failed to see the monster right in front of him. He had all the power (in context of the crew, the company is a whole other can of worms I have so many other thoughts on), but he was too afraid to use it. Hell, he was DISCOURAGED to use it if the memo about HR complaints are anything to go by. Swansea, on the other hand, never trusted Jimmy, never even really liked him, but he didn't want to make anything worse either. He didn't know what would actually set Jimmy off, or what he was capable of, and aside from just straight up killing him what else could he do that wouldn't just push Jimmy further off the edge? Like with the foam. "One wrong move and you'll rip this ship a new asshole", he worked carefully, hiding the last pod from Jimmy, keeping the only other weapon on himself, guarding the only other entrance into Medbay, but Jimmy was escalating quickly. He underestimated how far Jimmy was willing to go, just like Curly had, and in the end suffered the consequences.

The only character who actually understood how dangerous and unstable Jimmy was is Anya. She knew the moment she found out she was pregnant he would hurt her ("you won't let me protect myself"). He wouldn't be able to take it, he would do something drastic. She knew he was escalating the longer they were stranded. Anya is the only crew member who truly understood how dangerous Jimmy was and took direct action.

And interesting thing to me is that she doesn't just kill herself. She locks herself in the medbay. She could have waited for Jimmy to sleep, or locked herself in the cockpit, but she locked herself in the medbay with Curly. She knows that with her gone there would be no one left to take care of him, she knew Jimmy would continue to escalate his abuse, and with her gone all of his anger and fear and guilt would turn on Curly.

And wouldn't you know it? She was right. Without Anya to stop him, he takes curly out of the bed, forces him upright into the cryopod, and forces a man with no skin, no arms, no legs, and infected tissues to be frozen for 20 years while the rest of his crew Rot. And that's only what we know to be reality- if any of his delusions had some basis in reality he could have done so so much more. Anya is the Only one to take reasonable, direct action to keep herself, and then Curly, safe.

But she didn't have enough power over Jimmy to truly protect herself. She didn't have the code to the gun case, she didn't have a weapon or a rank to fall back on. She was outnumbered by men who she knew from experience either wouldn't or couldn't keep her safe, and she was heavily pregnant with a baby she didn't want and most likely couldn't even get enough nutrients to sustain either her or the fetus. She was physically weakened and trapped in a stranded ship with her abuser with no way home and a medical miracle (curse) in Curly.

This game is a really good reflection of reality, in my opinion as an abuse survivor. Some people will see them as "one of the boys" and constantly excuse or downplay their actions (Curly), some people will do small things in the background, recognize the abuse and disprove, but don't want to get in the way or make things worse (Swansea), and some people are just straight up oblivious/naive (Daisuke). But in the end, it's the system that allows abuse and incentives coverups to keep peace or save face that really allows abuse to fester and escalate.

Which is why I personally have a problem with the idea that Anya should have just Told A Different Man because it ignores the very real chain of power and her own agency in her story, AS WELL AS the idea that Swansea and Diasuke knew but didn't care because that's just not reflective of real life. Not every man is some rapist apologist who doesn't care what abusers do until it happens to them, some people just don't know what to do, or don't have any good options that wouldn't result in further abuse. Hell some people just don't even fucking notice! Not everyone has had exposure to the signs or knows what to look for.

It's easy when looking at fictional depictions of abuse to say "well if I was there I would have just punched him/killed him/called the police" but real life, in that moment, its never going to be clear cut. You can call out abuse, but that might just lead to that abuser taking it out on their abuse victim later. They could even start to target you for daring to speak out, or try to hurt you and cut you off from the person being abused. You can know all the right steps and the right programs, but in the moment, when faced with a real situation where someone could get hurt or even killed? You stumble. You think things over, you don't try and make any direct moves that would set their abusers off. Sometimes that's a good instinct, and sometimes that just lets abuse escalate. It's never a good situation, and it's never actually anyone's fault but the abusers. And this way of thinking also conveniently leaves out the survivor of this abuse, and portrays them as someone who needs to be saved, rather than someone who needs support and resources to save themselves. It also very conveniently lets the company that Put Anya in this situation in the first place get off Scott free.

The solution isn't "oh one of the men on board should have personally killed Jimbo and saved Anya all by himself" its "Anya deserved the support of her crewmates instead of being forced into close proximity with her rapist and also maybe Jimmy shouldn't have access to the fucking controls or medbay or any weapons- AND ALSO the crew shouldn't have financial incentives not to report things to HR"

[thef1diary]

omg dirtbag!daniel is so good I can’t stop thinking about it! also your writing style is to die for. Was wondering if there was any more fuel in the tank for more dirtbag!daniel?

thank you, nonnie! I always have more dirtbag!daniel thoughts 🤭 this is what’s been on my mind lately: spit kink, marking + a bit of bratty reader. it turned out longer than I initially intended. drop some thoughts and I’d love to chat

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Dirtbag!Daniel doesn’t own you. He never asked to, he never pretended to. But that didn’t stop him from treating you like you belonged to him, like your body existed solely for his amusement. Maybe it does, because no matter how filthy, how degrading his words get, you let him. You always come back for more.

Perhaps that’s why you were weaving your way through a packed bar, the dim lights flickering overhead and the bass of the music reverberating through your chest. The air is thick with humidity, the cloying scent of sweat and spilled beer clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place where anonymity thrives—a place where you could disappear into the crowd if you wanted to.

But you didn’t come to disappear, no, you came because he called, and you were too far gone to resist.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. One elbow rested lazily on the counter, a drink in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the class. His head is tilted slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, but there’s no mistaking the moment he sees you.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and smug, and you feel the pull of it like a hook in your chest. It’s infuriating, that smirk. It always is. It’s the way he tells you—without words—he’s two steps ahead, already planning how to leave his mark on you, both physically and mentally.

The bar is too crowded for you to think clearly, the press of bodies around you amplifying your nerves. But as you approach him, the rest of the room blurs into the background. All you see is him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clings to his frame, and the glint in his eyes that promises trouble.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Daniel drawled, leaning in to speak to you over the din. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every inch of your body. It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel exposed without even touching you. Like he’s already imagined all the ways he’s going to break you tonight.

You force yourself to shrug, to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a clink. “Figured you had more self-respect,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The grin that followed is demeaning, the kind that made your stomach twist in equal parts anger and want. “Guess not,” he added.

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, the sharp edge of his insult cut deep—but not in the way they should. His insult only added to the simmering heat in your stomach, a twisted, shameful thrill curling low in your belly.

You hated how much you craved it—his mocking tone, the way he could peel you apart with a single look. But you won’t admit it. You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him that you did have self-respect, thank you very much.

“I—”

But Daniel didn’t even give you the chance.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, interrupting without hesitation, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers brushed against your arm as he leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “I wasn’t looking for an argument, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his presence overwhelmed you, how his tone left no room for you to gain the upper hand. His smirk widened as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement, like this was all a game to him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t craving something,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “And we both know exactly what that is.”

Daniel didn’t even wait for you to respond, his smirk widening before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer. Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours, the kiss filthy and unapologetic. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue parting your lips with ease.

You melted into him, your resistance crumbling the moment he pulled you against his chest. The sheer force of his presence made your knees weak, and you hated how easily you gave in, how much you wanted this.

He almost chuckled into the kiss, the vibrations teasing against your lips, but he didn’t pull away. No, Daniel kissed you like he had something to prove, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue hot and insistent. It was consuming, like he wanted to claim every part of you here and now, and he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

You dimly registered the press of bodies around you, the muffled gasps and sidelong glances from strangers who couldn’t help but notice the spectacle he was making of you. But Daniel didn’t care, not even a little. If anything, the idea of an audience seemed to spur him on, his hand gripping your hip possessively, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead brushing against yours as he smirked down at you, his breath fanning over your lips. His gaze was molten, full of arrogance and something darker, something that made your stomach flip.

“See? You’re too easy,” he muttered, his tone low and mocking, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he loved every second of it. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of his own claim on you, and you felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

Daniel looked back, the smirk on his face growing as he signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Whiskey for me,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost bored, before his gaze slid back to you. “And for her…” He looked you up and down like he was appraising you, his lip curling slightly. “Something sweet. She needs it.”

You bristled at the condescension in his tone, but the bartender was already nodding, turning to make the drinks. Daniel’s attention shifted back to you, and he leaned his hip against the bar, his stance casual but his gaze piercing.

The drinks arrived moments later, and he slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, the words laced with challenge. “Show me just how good you are at taking what I give you.”

Your fingers closed around the glass, but your grip faltered as his words sank in, their double meaning curling around your chest and tightening like a vice.

“I don’t take orders from you, Daniel,” you managed to bite out. Daniel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “don’t you?”

His eyes dropped to the drink in your hand, then back to your face, challenging you. “C’mon, I know you can be good for me.”

Your grip tightened around the glass as you raised it to your lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Daniel’s gaze stayed fixed on you, intense and unwavering, his smirk deepening as if he could feel the fire burning under your skin.

The drink was just as he’d ordered—sweet and cloying, the kind of thing that lingered too long on your tongue. His eyes flickered to your throat as you tipped the glass back, watching the subtle motion of you finishing the drink. The heat in his gaze made your skin prickle, and your breath hitched as you placed the empty glass on the bar with deliberate finality.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like silk, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without another word, he picked up his whiskey and downed it in a single smooth motion, the glass hitting the bar with a quiet clink. His hand found yours before you could react, his fingers firm but not rough as he tugged you from the bar.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You followed as he guided you through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. He maneuvered you effortlessly, weaving through the bodies pressed close together until you reached a dark corner of the bar. The music was quieter here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to swallow you both whole.

Daniel turned to face you, his smirk growing as he backed you up against a wall. His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, and for a moment, you felt like a cornered animal under his unrelenting gaze.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the muffled thrum of the music. “We both know why you’re here.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail—the way your dress clung to your frame, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His gaze lingered, unapologetic and ravenous, and you felt the heat of it searing into you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and cutting. “All dolled up, hoping I’d notice. Hoping I’d take one look at you and decide to ruin you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing, like he could see right through you

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” he went on, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The second I called, you came running, didn’t you? Like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Danny…” you murmured, the plea barely audible, your voice trembling under the weight of his words. Your cheeks burned, humiliation mingling with the thrill that coursed through you, leaving you lightheaded.

He simply chuckled, watching you squirm in place as he had you exactly where he wanted you. His grip was firm, his thumb pressing down just enough to part your lips. “Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mockery of sweetness. “Don’t get shy on me now. You wanted this. You wanted me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, desperately, the act slipping away as soon as he called you his slut—which was exactly what you were, what you’d always be for him.

“There it is,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smirk widened, his thumb tracing the edge of your lip before dragging it down your chin, a slow, deliberate motion that made you shiver. “I can see it, you know. The way you’re squirming, the way your eyes keep flicking to my mouth like you’re imagining all the filthy things I could do to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you, tightening the coil of tension low in your belly.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice dipping even lower, the edge of his accent sharpening his words. “Say you came here for me. Say you came here to let me ruin you.”

Your lips parted, the heat of his gaze pulling the words from you before you could stop them. “I did,” you whispered, voice trembling as your cheeks burned under his scrutiny. “I came here for you. I want you to ruin me.”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “That’s my obedient little slut,” he murmured, a grin breaking out on his face.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick further—his kiss earlier already having ruined it—leaving a streak of red across your skin. His grin widened as his eyes followed the smear. “Such a pretty mess already. Let’s make it worse.”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “Stick out your tongue.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting your tongue peek out, feeling utterly exposed under his watchful, predatory stare.

He tilted his head, letting a slow stream of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you held still, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Close,” he instructed, and you did, your lips sealing around the weight of his demand.

“Swallow,” he said next, his voice sharp and deliberate, the edge of his accent making it sound even filthier.

You swallowed, the act leaving a warmth in your belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. His smirk grew, impossibly smug, as his thumb returned to your jaw, tilting your face further toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “You take orders so well, don’t you? Makes me wonder what else that filthy mouth of yours is good for.”

You whimpered under the weight of his words, your knees threatening to give out as his free hand slid down to your shoulder, then lower, fingers toying with the strap of your dress. He tugged it down slightly, just enough to bare your skin to him—revealing a few more marks he left behind a couple days ago.

“Mine,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, biting down gently, then harder, until you gasped. He pulled back to admire the mark blooming on your skin—a deep red imprint of his teeth.

“You look so much better when you’re marked up,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Everyone who sees these will know exactly who you belong to.”

His hand wandered back up, fingers brushing the column of your throat before tightening just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling it race under his touch. “Being claimed, being ruined. You’ve been craving this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “Please, Danny. I want more.”

His grin turned almost cruel as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, you’ll get more, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Perhaps you did belong to him, but the realization wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected. In fact, it felt strangely natural, even comforting, as you found yourself agreeing with him without hesitation. Not that you ever had the strength to resist him in the first place. You were already a goner from the first time he degraded you like no other.

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[eerna]

Act 3 somehow had the best highs (Ekko, Timebomb, the really cool Jayce and Viktor scenes) and yet the worst lows (Caitvi, underdeveloped characters) I've ever seen Arcane have like what happened to the writing???

LITERALLY I was watching ep 7 and having so much fun, but realistically I knew that it depended on my ability to believe that, had Enforcers caught the kids after raiding the Kiramman workshop, they would let them go and everything would be fine and they would all grow up happy and adjusted and Silco would see the error of his ways and the Undercity would be filled with sunshine. Somehow we forgot that one single death could NOT have done all this, because the reason things are so bad is the SOCIOECONOMIC SYSTEM THAT PILTOVER AND ZAUN ARE ENGAGED IN. And with the episode 9 end, things just go right back to the way they have been before Hexgates, and that's treated as "saving the day". The writers all collectively got amnesia and forgot that the biggest enemy of Arcane was never magic or Noxus, but the oppressive class system creating violence and injustice among the people, which existed well before Hexgates did. It's pathetic.

[eternal-gromnommer]

@bunjywunjy I think what anon meant is an unusual "sport", or mutant variation, of the common coconut known in the Philippines as the "macapuno"!

On the right, a normal coconut, with a thin layer of meat and a large central cavity containing the watery juice. On the left, the mutant macapuno, entirely filled with sweet, gelatinous inner meat and hardly any liquid inside, literally its name in Filipino loosely translating to "filled inside".

All this stems down to a single gene mutation that leads to a deficiency in a-D-galactosidase: the enzyme that normally would break down the energy source galactomannan into galactose and mannose, necessary for the seed to develop. A normal plant embryo develops in each macapuno seed, but as its "yolk" is abnormal, it is unable to nourish its growth and such is non-viable.

Because of this, a macapuno seed can't sprout: it's literally an infertile coconut that can be best described as a "rotten egg" of sorts. And yet since humans crave those sweet, sweet rotten eggs, they had to find a way to cultivate a mutant that literally cannot reproduce on its own. Through selective breeding, trees have been produced that produce a higher chance of macapuno coconuts but still bear normal, viable seeds as well. Others resort to "embryo rescue" technology where the plant embryo is "rescued" from its abnormal, unlivable nursery and raised in-vitro, producing plants that can yield a 100% macapuno rate (and in a reproductive point of view completely sterile).

A macapuno coconut can't readily be distinguished from a normal coconut from the outside, until it is cut open. And due to their non-viability, they are a rare find in normal coconut cultivation, occasionally popping up randomly at a roughly one or two every thousand chance from batches of harvested coconuts. Still, from time to time, you might be surprised to stumble upon one as a uncommon treat, and its unique flavor makes it very prized as a local culinary favorite, be it in preserves, ice cream and various desserts. Definitely a must-try if you're ever lucky enough to find one!

So apparently in the Philippines a rare "mutated" coconut is considered a delicacy? Where instead of having watery juice inside it's filled with jelly?

...that sounds like regular coconut jelly? the one they make with young coconut. you chop the top off, make an agar jelly with the coconut water, and add that back in along with some of the coconut meat shavings and refrigerate until it's lovely

my local asian food store has these in the freezer section and I take home a couple every month

[weepingchronicles]

Could you do a yandere Caitlyn kiramman from arcane x fem reader?

thank you for your request! sorry if this is ooc, i feel that i am not that good at writing for caitlyn but i tried. </3 also!! no s2 spoilers :)

content warnings: controlling and obsessive behavior, little bit of infantilizing, forced drugging, implied kidnapping.

❝yandere!caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader❞

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Whether you were from Zaun or Piltover treats you with kindness. If you're from Piltover she thinks of you as an equal and might admire you to some degree if you are talented. If you're from the undercity she might have some reservations about you at first but as she gets to know you better she puts those thoughts aside and begins to see you as an equal and friend. For this though let's just assume you both are co-workers!

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 I think Caitlyn is so focused and goal-driven she will have difficulty realizing she likes you more than just a comrade or friend. It will start with longing glances, she spaces out just staring at you without even realizing she is missing orders from her superior. When others ask Cait what she thinks of you, she gets a bit distracted.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁"She's an excellent friend and partner. .! I could not imagine anyone else replacing her. I find her very admirable, her strength and her clever nature. The way she holds her gun, when she forgets a loose button on top of her uniform, the way her eyes widen when she-" and on and on and on. . .

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 It actually takes someone else to point out her obvious crush on you for her to realize. She is completely flabbergasted and in denial at first, "What! No way- what are you talking about? Yes, she is my friend but also my co-worker! That'd be completely unprofessional!"

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 But then she can't stop overanalyzing all her interactions with you. Whenever you enter a room her heart sinks to her stomach. God forbid you actually go beside her, her brain completely malfunctions in a way she has never experienced before. You're just so talented.. and beautiful. No! She just really, really, really admires you. It's not an actual crush..! Right?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn had never really experienced romantic feelings for someone before, she has been so focused on her goals and proving herself she never had the time to. Of course, there was many people offering their hand for her but it was always met with a firm but polite 'no.'

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 She hated all the male suitors her parents tried to coerce her into meeting at least, to see if it's a match. To please her parents she would but every single one was awful. They saw her only as an object, a pretty thing to marry and show off as a trophy. A tool for power, not in the least caring for her dreams and aspirations.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 But you, you were so different. You were kind and actually cared for her opinions even if she tended to push the boundaries of her actual duties. You never gave up on her even when it felt like the world did.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Welp, she couldn't deny it anymore, she in fact had a big fat crush on you. What to do next? Oh, pretend everything is normal and hopefully it goes away.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 But it doesn't. In fact it gets even worse the more she tries to conceal it. Stumbling over words like a blabbering fool as you attempt to talk to her, her co-workers laugh at her making her even more flushed!

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 It wasn't until one day her obsession with you truly began. It was one of Jinx's ambushes again and there were explosions, it wasn't good. It was very bad. Most of her peers had died unexpectedly, not even getting a chance to fight back. Caitlyn herself got injured but all she could think about was you.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 It took about an hour of searching the premises before she finally found you, stuck and unconscious under a pile of rubble. You looked bad, it struck a fear in Caitlyn, seeing you like that, she never wished to feel it again. She carried you herself to get some help despite limping and bleeding from her own wounds.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Luckily you got help in immediate time and you came to in a hospital bed, Caitlyn herself passed out in a chair beside you with her head in your lap. You could see the dark bags under her eyes, you figured she must've not been getting enough sleep. Has she been with you the entire time you've been out of commission?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 During your healing process which would be a long while, Caitlyn took a rare deprive from her work, also recovering her lesser injuries. She spent most of her time beside you, making sure you ate, bringing you things to keep you entertained like books, helping you stand to the bathroom for goodness sake. It still couldn't keep her entirely out of her work though, in fact it made her even more determined to find this 'Jinx' and get justice for you and her friends, of course. She was almost obsessed with the case and capturing Jinx, and it all stemmed from her growing protection over you.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn struggled to sleep, having nightmares of the explosion and you, your bloody body now mangled and unrealistically morphed into something terrifying. She'd wake up in fright, only to find herself sleeping on your lap with you sleeping sound. She'd brush back your hair, vowing to never let you get hurt like that again.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 All of this came to a climax when you were finally well enough to be released from the hospital. You were a bit rusty but you were antsy to get back to work, you felt so useless being trapped in a hospital bed.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn, however, was not ready for you to leave and go back to action. You were still so weak, what if something happens and you aren't able to react quickly enough? What if you die?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Cait could not stand for it and so she pleaded for you to reconsider, just a month or a week more! But you were adamant about heading back, no matter what Caitlyn said. So she gave in but she was not going to let you get hurt under her watch.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 She was like a shadow you could never get rid of. Always hovering around you and staring at you with those crystal blue eyes warily, waiting almost so she can step in and help you. Even if you were put in different groups, she'd stray just so she can make sure you're okay. Need some water? Oh, careful there's a rock there! Are you okay? Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You could not handle it anymore, it felt not only suffocating but demeaning with the way she treated and looked at you as though you were glass.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You snapped, yelling at her to leave you alone and that you're an adult, you are capable of defending yourself. After snapping you felt a bit guilty seeing her face. She looked completely shocked and almost like a kicked over puppy, those big blue eyes looking sad now. Caitlyn could only watch in silence as you walked away from her, trying to calm down. And for once, she did not follow.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 A couple days passed with no progress on the Jinx case and it seemed that Cait had finally gotten the hint and left you alone. You felt almost bad, when you were near she'd glance at you and quickly look away as if hurt. You didn't want to stop being friends, just that it was getting to a point of controlling behavior.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You took it upon yourself to visit the Kiramman household, wanting to apologize and become friends again. You did miss her, you both had especially gotten close after spending so much time healing. Perhaps that is why it hurt so much that she didn't trust you.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn looked shocked when you showed up on her doorstep but let you in nonetheless, pretending everything was normal. She offered you tea and you agreed.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Sitting both down, you finally let it out that you reacted too harshly that day and that you wanted to continue being friends. That you missed her.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Taking a deep exhale after saying all of that, you waited for her reaction. Cait was serene and hard to read, not responding right away instead taking her teacup and sipping on her tea.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 "Please have some of your tea, it is imported from Ionia."

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You stare at her a bit, is that all she had to say? Not even an acknowledgement or, hell, even a refusal to forgive you? You sigh and drink the tea anyways and she begins to actually speak.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁"You see, over the last couple of days, no, months that I have been by your side whilst you heal has made me have a realization." She glances up at you from her tea.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 "I love you." All thoughts disappear from your head the moment those words are uttered, so calmly as well. "And when you love something, you protect it. Your outburst at me the other day made me truly realize this, what you're doing to yourself- it's a cry for help. You are not fit to be an enforcer, it is too dangerous and with Jinx still out there.. I am afraid I can't let you leave again." Wait, what?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Just as she finishes speaking your vision begins to spin. You start seeing two Caitlyn's instead of one, the teacup in your hands wobbles and breaks in shards on the ground. Caitlyn tuts and stands up, grabbing your shoulders gently and laying you back down onto the couch before you could fall.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 "There we go. I'm sorry it had to be this way but don't worry, I will find Jinx and make her pay for doing this to you. Just rest, my dear."

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Even then, Caitlyn stays by your side while gently caressing your cheek. Your vision fades and you fall asleep.

a/n: guys.. i may have went a bit overboard with writing this but it was more fun that i had thought! i hope i did yan caitlyn justice! <3 also this is kind of foreshadowing a little bit of s2 cait?? but in a alternative universe. also see how caitlyn's suitors just thought of her as an object and now she is doing the same thing to reader unintentionally.. parallels!!

[amermaidsecretdiary]

I'M QUITTING + MY VOID STATE SUCCESS STORY

Hello guys, it's been a long time since i have posted something or in general be active here which was mostly because of personal reasons (just focusing on myself), although one of them had to do with our community.

I personally joined loatumblr at the middle of 2022 (from a previous anonymous account i had) but i started posting much later. Back then, the community was at it's peak ngl. The bloggers and the way they explained stuff was honestly, at least for me, so helpful and enjoyable. After the end of 2023 - beginning of 2024 this community started dying. I really didn't like this since I loved scrolling through specific blogs and reading their posts. I tried to post some stuff to give a little bit of life in there and i guess it did help a little.

Quick note; Please don't get me wrong, i'm not saying that the current posts and blogs running right now suck.. what i'm saying is that this community used to be way more alive back then.

One of the reasons why this happened is because people applied and got what they wanted. So they logged off tumblr. When I realised that, I decided to seriously focus on loa and start applying myself. And i ended up manifesting some good stuff, and I was good with it. Although, after some time, i decided that i wanted to manifest a completely new life from scratch, which it was what i wanted to do from the first time i joined tumblr but i ditched that thought and ended up changing some stuff about my current life.

My goal back then was to enter the void state (which im pretty sure it was 95% of the people in here goal too), but i didn't understand it properly so i couldn't 'enter'. I ended up ditching it and manifested without it. But after some point, i did my research and fully understood the void state or better, pure consciousness. If you go through my blog, you won't see much stuff about pure consciousness because i choose to not talk about it in here. The way it is treated it loatumblr just pisses me off. If you post a void success story, people will immediately run to you and ask you basic stuff like 'how did u do it?' when all the information needed about it is already posted. People tend to see it as something 'huge' and believe they can't succeed in it which is bs. If you do a little bit of research on pure consciousness you will understand how simple it is. Although, even if the 'void state' is seem like something that people overcomplete this doesn't mean that you can not use it. What i'm saying is that there are some people who really dislike the concept of it and will recommend u not to try it. Look, everyone has their different opinions and beliefs but if you want to manifest your dream life in the void state, go ahead. After all, it found you for a reason.

So coming back to my experience, since it was always my 'dream' to manifest my dream life in the void state, i decided to do it now. I'm pretty good at lucid dreaming (i've been lucid dreaming 3 years now) i decided to tap into my pure consciousness during a lucid dream. So i did my usual routine, had a lucid dream in which i closed my eyes and found myself floating in a void. I affirmed that i have lucid dreams everynight and then i got out. I did this 4 days ago, and i have had around 3-4 lucid dreams every single night, without doing any practise at all. Also, i have been scripting my entire dream life and i'm preparing myself to finally experience it. I have decided to make a looottt of big changes but two of them are the 'biggest' for me; numb.1 i will manifest that i will completely forget about my current life (i will also not remember anything about the law, for personal reasons) and numb.2 i will go back in time around 30 years ago (again for personal reasons). I mentioned this to make it clear to you that i won't be able to post my 'success story' after manifesting it, since i will not remember anything about me manifesting stuff and also even if i did, i wouldn't be able to post it since i will not have access to tumblr or current technology in general. So my success story is this one. This days, when i find the right time for me, i will have a lucid dream as usual and tap into my pure consciousness again which from there, i will finally manifest the life of my dreams. So that's my final post you will see from me. I hope you all never give up and get what you want because trust me it's worth it and all this found u for a reason. If you really want it and you stay consistent, then it's all yours. My words can not describe the way i feel right now, knowing that i have my dream life right in front of me and i can just grab it and give it to myself anytime, after this big journey. Goodbye everyone :)

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 19: Heart of Gold

Figured the Vander fandom could use a lil' treat right about now, so here's my gift to all of you! Fingers crossed for Act 3 tomorrow!

(Also yes, two updates in a single week. Points to me!)

THIS IS SMUT! 18+! MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Masterlist

“You hungry at all? Think we’ve got some leftovers I can warm up for y’.” He asks once you step through the threshold, shutting the door behind you. The apartment feels eerily empty without the others, despite the mountains of stuff that litter the floor space and every perceivable surface. But the homey warmth is welcomed after your bitterly cold walk home. You feel your cheeks begin to warm, sense coming back into them. You’ve hidden your hands in the large sleeves of Vander’s jacket, but still curl your fingers as warm blood begins to flow back into them.

You shake your head. “Maybe some water, if you don’t mind? And find where we put the bandages?” You ask. You’ll have to put fresh plasters on your injuries after your shower. 

“Of course!” Vander nods, and once the door lock clicks, he turns back to face you. He stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets and shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and looking down at you without saying anything. The air felt thick, charged, like something still hung between you, unresolved. So much so that it took you a solid moment to even realize you were doing much the same, just stupidly looking up at him. You found yourself wanting to say something, to bridge the space, but the words felt too small, too fragile. So, you just stood there. Time stretched, thick with everything that had been said, and everything that hadn’t. All that was left was the weight of your shared space, now too big for the both of you. The seconds slipped by, silent and heavy, until you weren’t sure if it was you or the room that was holding its breath. 

Finally, it’s Vander that speaks first, pulling the world back into motion. “You’re sure you’re alright?” It should be a simple question, but it feels like a lifeline thrown across a gap.

You shift, unknowingly taking a small step towards him, and the tension in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there begins to lessen. You feel his gaze on you soften, but your own gaze is still absent-mindedly locked on his feet.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe out. Your voice barely more than a whisper. “Promise.” There was a long pause after that—no rush to fill the silence with anything else. But then he takes a step towards you, closing the physical space, and a gentle knuckle moves your chin up to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes—something raw, desperate—mesmerizes you and you suddenly can’t move your eyes away, locked in on the storming gray. 

Wordlessly, he extends his hand. You have to shove the sleeve of his jacket up your arm in order to meet his touch with your own, the large calloused hand easily enveloping yours. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, each touch like a promise, soft but knowing. Still silent, he lifts your hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath ghosts over your wrist before he pressed a soft kiss to the plaster, the touch lingering, gentle, reverent. Then, with gentle fingers, he opens your hand to press it against the warmth of his cheek. Despite your best attempts to keep your hands warm outside, the warmth of his cheek burns at the winter-bitten skin of your fingers, and his stubble brushes against the meat of your palm. 

His eyes closed, just for a moment, and in the stillness, there was something…but you couldn’t put a name to the feeling that filled that entryway to your shared apartment. Meditation? Thoughtfulness? A prayer? An apology? Whatever it was, you stayed, refusing to pull away but fighting the urge to bury yourself in his chest and stay there for an eternity. Thankfully, you don’t have to fight the urge for too long as he eventually does lower your hand, giving it one last, soft, reassuring squeeze before lowering it back to your side.

“I’ll get that water for you, Love.” He says with a smile, snapping you out of your daze. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Somewhere between sad and thankful. “Go and wash up.” 

“Right.” You nod. Showering! Showering is good! In all your romantic kissy-faces to each other, you’d almost forgotten the reason you had been itching to return home so quickly. You quickly peel off his jacket, handing it back to him before bending down to unlace your boots. As you do, you’re quickly reminded of the coolness of your apartment as it hits your very exposed flesh all at once. Gods, you needed to get out of these fighting clothes. Would it be too dramatic to say you wanted to burn them? Maybe. But the thought still crossed your mind. 

The steam that wrapped around you was almost like a blanket, the warmth of the water a slow, soothing balm against your aching bones. The hot spray cascading from the top of your head, and pouring down your neck and over the skin of your back. Lazily, you’d lifted an arm and watched as the water washed away the dirt and grime from the past few hours, leaving behind murky trails as the droplets rolled down your skin. 

You shouldn’t be taking too long in the shower, you knew this. The boilers for your apartment building were old, and tended not to hold much hot water. But the minute you felt the heat seep into your muscles, you were hypnotized. Closing your eyes, you turned and let the water flow down your hair and into your face, the sound of rushing water drowning out any and all noise from the world outside. It hurts a little when the water hits your nose, shocking you out of your peace and making you step back away from the stream. 

Right, you think to yourself, your injuries. Had to work around those…

You look down at your damaged wrists, the raw, angry skin still tender from the rough treatment, and a small annoyance flickers in your chest. How are you supposed to wash your hair when you can’t even get soap in the wounds? Your fingers hover near the shampoo bottle, but your mind veers off, lost in a different memory. The shackles. You can almost feel the cold, unforgiving metal around your wrists again, the way they had bitten into your skin, rubbing it raw with every movement, tethering you in a way that was both physical and psychological. The sensation of being bound, unable to escape, floods your thoughts, and the anxiety tightens in your chest.

You breathe deeply, pushing the memories away as best you can. Your gaze shifts to the temperature dial of the shower, and your fingers flex, tentative, before flicking your wrist just so. The heat of the water rises, just a touch more, and as it hits your skin, it’s like a switch flips. The tension in your hands begins to ease, the deep ache in your muscles loosening, like a rusted hinge moving for the first time in ages after being oiled.

There’s a knock at the door that snaps you out of your thoughts, and you call out an invitation to come in. 

“Just wanted to check in,” Vander calls, “makin’ sure everything’s alright.”

You respond quickly, without even thinking. “Yup, I’m all good!” But another look at the shampoo bottle reminds you of your predicament. “...actually…could I ask a favour?” An uncomfortable feeling rises in your chest, the dread of having to depend on someone else for something so simple as washing your hair. 

The door clicks as Vander steps inside. “Of course, whatever you need.”

“I-” you exhale a sigh of annoyance, “I think I need help washing my hair. My wrists…”

You don’t need to say any more before Vander starts stripping himself of his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and his belt hitting the tile floor. The rushing water is almost enough to drown out the self-deprecating thoughts that trickle into your mind, and the sound of your heartbeat skipping in your ears as he climbs in behind you. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his hands on your body. His fingers swiping over the various discoloured bruises that now decorate your skin, some from Sevika, some from the Enforcers.  You can feel the weight of their gaze, full of care, but also something else—concern, maybe even guilt. “I promise, I’m fine.” You say as you turn around to face him, and his eyes immediately shift to your nose. You didn’t realize he was so close to you, your chests basically pressed to one another once you’ve turned to face him. “You and I both know I’ve been through worse.”  His eyebrows lift a little and he nods, muttering “fair enough,” as he detaches his hands and bends down to the shampoo he knows is yours. 

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you.” You blurt as he pours out the bottled liquid. But he just gives you a knowing look.

“It’s you, Doll,” he smiles, and you realize it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him all night. “You could never ask too much of me.”

Your heart skips all over again.

As he begins working the shampoo into your hair, you find yourself leaning into the feel of his fingers. They’re a little awkward, clearly not used to doing this for someone else, but his touch feels heavenly as they rub into your scalp. Your eyes shut, but your hands latch onto his hips to help keep you steady. It doesn’t take him long to work the solution into your short-cut hair, and he ever so gently tilts your head back into the shower’s stream to wash it away.

“That cut to your nose’ll scar nicely.” He remarks as his hands keep busy in your strands.

“Like it?” You tentatively open one of your eyes and smirk. “At least my muzzle’s not quite as mashed as yours.”

He chuckles lowly. “We’re still young, Minnie. Give it a few more years, and we’ll see who’s talking. Besides,” he tips your head back up, but his hands stay entangled in your hair, “even with all the broken cartilage in the world, and every scar imaginable, you’re still gorgeous compared to my ugly mug.”

A heat rises through your chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the steaming shower, and suddenly, your retort about how much you hate that stupid nickname has vanished from your mind. Instead, you force a roll of your eyes and gently swat at his side with a scoff. 

“Oh fuck off, so not true.” 

“I think it is.” He smiles, his eyes locked on yours as a small smile pulls at his lips. “Besides, can’t blame a man for trying to flatter his girl.” 

Your eyebrows fly up into your hairline. “‘Yours’, huh?”

He hums in confirmation, his thumb brushing at the base of your skull. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, and your breath catches in your throat. He smirks as he confirms, “mine.” There’s no questioning tone or uncertainty, it’s matter-of-fact. Before you even have time to think of a proper response, he’s bending down to retrieve the soap. 

He rathers the bar in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth up to yours, searching yours, as if asking for permission. The tension in the air is palpable, the space between you thick with hesitation. You nod, just once, barely, but it’s enough. He moves with practiced care, gently moving one sudsy hand to your shoulder. You can feel the bubbles wiping away the remnants of the grime and sweat, but you don’t move your eyes away from Vander. His, on the other hand, scans over every inch of you as he continues to move his hand over your skin. The moment his hands reach for your wrists, you flinch, instinctively pulling back, but he stops—just for a beat, letting you adjust, giving you a moment. His touch is careful, soft as he moves away from the tender wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “I should have done something to stop them, to help you.”

You don’t say anything at first, letting him continue to work the soap into your torso. You can feel his hands pause for just a moment around your chest, almost out of habit, before continuing to slide over your sides. Then you lift your hands to his shoulders, stilling him. You search his expression, guilt coming up to the surface and written all over his furrowed brow. You’re looking for something, anything to indicate the right thing to say to him. But then you're moving to your tip-toes, and your hands are sliding around him, pulling his lips down to meet yours. 

Your lips are gentle. There’s no heat, no rush, to the kiss but he melts into it all the same. There’s a small, echoed, ‘thump’ as the soap falls to the floor of the shower and his hands encircle your waist. He’s gentle, careful, but pressed you into him. Not unsure or uncertain, just careful of the way your body moves with his touch.

Eventually, you pull away, but he refuses to let you go, and keeps the closeness between you even tighter as he gently presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his breath fanning over your face, and his strong grip keeping you firmly in place. The hot water from the shower streams down your back, and the combined heat from the steam and the shared warmth of his body radiating into both of you. When you do eventually separate, it’s only thanks to a firm hand on his chest that he lets you pull away.

“I think I can handle it from here.” You smile a little to yourself. “I’m 90% sure we’re about to run out of hot water, and I’d really rather that not happen while I’m in here. Is it okay if I meet you out there?”

There’s something like a low growl deep in his chest, and he pulls you in one more time, this time to press a gentle, tender kiss to your wet hair. One of your hands finds its way to his chest, the pads of your fingers tracing over the lines of his muscles appreciatively for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he takes a step back. 

“Take all the time you need, Love.” He smiles, squeezing your hand one final time before stepping out. You let him take your hand with him, until the very last moment before he disappears behind the curtain. 

As you predicted, it takes next to no time at all for you to finish washing up. You quickly dry off and dress in a much comfier set of clothes, but you’re still toweling off your hair as you step out of the bathroom and into the apartment at large. As you could have guessed, Vander’s sitting there, patiently, on the couch with a first aid kit on standby.

“You didn’t have to actually wait for me.” You explain. “And you really don’t have to help patch me back up.” 

“Oh, please,” Vander scoffs and waves you off, “you’ve patched me up plenty, it’s only right if I return the favour every once in a while.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but take the spot next to him nonetheless, smiling as he grabs the antiseptic from the kit. His movements are calm, but a little unsure. Usually it’s him getting patched up, not the other way around. You watch him, the quiet comfort of their presence filling the space between you.

He focuses on your wrists first, his hands gentle as they begin cleaning and dressing your wounds. There’s no rush in the way he works, no sense of urgency, just the steady rhythm of their touch. The coolness of the ointment soothes your skin, and for a moment, you forget the discomfort, focusing instead on the simple act of being cared for. His fingers graze your arm as they adjust the bandage, warm and reassuring.

The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore. It’s easy, companionable, a shared moment of quiet that feels more like a pause than anything else. You lean back into the cushions, finally able to relax, the weight of the day starting to lift, if only for a little while. And in that space, with them beside you, you feel happily reassured, content even.

“You don’t have to apologize, you know.” You break the silence. His hands pause over the bandages for a moment, indicating he heard you, but his gaze doesn’t lift to meet yours. “You did help me. I’m assuming it wasn’t Silco’s idea to get my mom and Niya involved.”

He shrugs, wrapping the second bandage around your other wrist. “It was Silco who said that if we were seen anywhere topside, we’d get thrown in jail with you.” For such a large man, it was surprising when his voice was this small.

“He was probably right.” You nod, and lift your already-bandaged hand to cup his cheek. “But you still found a way to help me. What matters right now is that I’m safe, here with you, and everyone down here’s okay.”

He leans into your touch for a moment, shutting his eyes. He seems to be thinking to himself for a moment, then sighs, nods, and turns his attention back to bandaging you up. You drop your hand. 

“Suppose you’re right.” He mumbles, practically a whisper, and he looks up to give you a thankful smile. One you’re more than happy to return.

“When am I not?” 

To this, he can’t help but chuckle, and he gives you a knowing look, one that makes the air feel lighter, more peaceful. There’s something about his presence, the way he handles you with care, that feels grounding, even comforting. As he finishes with your wrist, he finally turns his attention to your nose. This one’s easy, shorter work, as he simply dabs on the last of the antiseptic and sticks a plaster to the bridge of your nose, just under your eye line. 

As he finishes tending to you, his hands remain steady, not moving away, not yet. He looks up at you, eyes soft, searching for a sign—anything that might let him know you're ready for him to pull away. But you don’t want him to. Instead, you happily let him move closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he captures your lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tightly as his mouth moves over yours, a mix of tenderness and hunger in his touch. Time seems to slow down as his mouth moves over yours, the kiss slow and languid, as if he wants to savor every moment. His hands gently caress your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he kisses you tenderly.

He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a gentle but firm tongue, mapping out every contour. He moves from your lips to your ears, his breath hot on your skin as he whispers sweet nothings, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck that make your toes curl. Your hands snake around to the back of his head, your fingers gripping into his hair and successfully drawing out a moan from him. This makes you smirk, but you’re surprised when he quickly pulls his face away from you.

“When do you have to be at work?” He asks, voice husky but concern written on his face.

You shake your head. “I don’t, I booked today off in case the fight went sideways. You?”

His concern melts away into a gleeful smile, his arms enveloping your torso as he lifts you up with absolutely no effort, sitting back to lean against the arm of the couch and pulling you into his lap, your thighs straddling his. “Not until tonight.”

Gods bless!

You dip your face back to meet his lips again, letting a moan ring out at the contact. The kiss is slow and somewhat tentative at first, and it’s clear he wants to be gentle with you. But more and more as your kiss continues to deepen, he quickly becomes more confident until he inevitably dips his head back down to the crook of your neck. But he still moves slowly, taking his time to taste and touch, his mouth finding the sensitive spots on your neck, the hollow of your collarbone, and the slope of your shoulder. His mouth sears a path of pleasure as his hands continue to wander over your body, exploring every dip and curve. His stubble scratches you in the most delectable way. 

He worships you with his touch, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to commit the feel of your skin to his memory. It feels like every touch of his lips is your own personal heaven, your hand dropping to his shoulder and gripping, your chest heaving as your breath becomes more and more laboured. Damn this man, damn him and his memory of every little nerve ending in your body. 

As his hands move under the fabric of your shirt, you give him a silent nod of approval, letting him slide the material up and off your torso and not carrying where into the depths of your home he throws it. He pulls away, just for a moment, as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his eyes scanning over every inch of you. “Best fuckin’ tits either side of the bridge, I swear to the Gods…” This makes you giggle a little, which only makes his smile grow even wider. 

“Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.” You laugh, using your magic to pull him in by the metal studs in his vest. He’s only too happy to follow orders, crashing his lips to yours once again.

Your hands run up his chest, helping him out of his vest and he thankfully takes the hint, pulling his shirt over his head. You take the moment to shimmy out of the pajama shorts you’d only just gotten dressed into as he begins to fiddle with his belt. It only takes a second for you to flick your finger, and the belt unloops itself and goes flying towards the bedroom. He gives you a knowing look.

“What?” You shrug as he resumes discarding his pants. “What’s the point of having these damn powers if I can’t use them, hm?”

“Lil’ trouble maker.” He tsk’s but very shortly pulls you right back to his lap.

His strong, muscular chest pressed up against your own, the feeling of skin against skin sending a wave of heat through both of you. He kisses you with a fervor and intensity that takes your breath away, his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he's scared to let you go. You feel as desired and wanted as you've ever been, every touch and kiss from him making you weak in the knees and stealing all rational thought from your mind. In all your years, you’ve never once felt quite as desired as you do with Vander. Similarly, it takes only a mere touch from him to make your knees weak and your mind go empty. Simply put, it’s just…him. And he’s the only one you want. 

The thought, and the pure intimacy of it all, is enough to make your hips begin to grind down on their own accord. You can feel how he’s pressing into you, how hard and perfectly shaped he is against your body. His hand finds your hip, steadying you and catching your gaze in a questioning look.

“Sure you’re up for this tonight, Love?” He asks, thumb rubbing softly against your pelvis bone. But all you’ve got to do is smile and dip down to capture his lips as you tilt your hips and scoot closer, for him to let out a full-body shiver and grab your hips with both hands, and thrust fully into you. You moan out a slew of curses as your body writhes against his, everything else ceasing to exist as he fills you. Getting lost in his embrace, his face finds your neck again and begins to pepper kisses across the skin. You feel the desperate need for friction, a primal urge taking control, but you're already so sensitive and overwhelmed from the initial stretch that you know you need time to adjust. He groans, a deep, guttural thing, when you finally take all of him, and the sound drives through you, making your core tighten in response. Your own self-restraint crumbles, and your hips move on their own accord, silently pleading for him to finally give in and begin the movement you both crave. Thankfully, he seems unable to resist, his own hips moving to match your rhythm until you hit the pace you need, causing pleasure to crash into you.

His strength is absolutely an asset, his hands helping to guide your hips up and down as you begin to slowly ride him. Your mind was already practically spinning, moans and curses tumbling from your lips as he dragged in and out of your warmth. Your hands find his shoulders (fuck, he has nice shoulders), a desperate attempt to ground yourself and bite back the urge to dig your fingernails into his skin.

“So-fuck–” you whine, almost pathetically, “so fucking full.”

The sound sends a shockwave through Vander, all but ramming himself deeper into you in a way that feels like it breaks your brain. But you both feel it, the desperate hunger for more. 

“That’s right. You take me so well, don’t you, Love?” He moans into your skin, pulling away from your neck to take in the sight of you on his lap. Somehow, seeing his eyes, seeing the way he looks at you; like water to a man parched, like your the greatest treasure you could hope to find. Mesmerized by the pleasure on your face and the way your tits bounce as you move against him. It feels wonderfully perfect, and all you can do is moan and nod, each time your hips snap down, sending a fresh wave of ecstasy through your body.

He’s relentless, his hips grinding against yours like he owns you, and there’s a sense of ownership in his actions, as if he’s claiming you as his own. He lets out a growl against your ear, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s wild and intense, and the pleasure he’s giving you is so much more than you ever thought possible. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back as you hold on for dear life, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations.

At this point, any semblance of gentleness is long gone, replaced with the primarily urge, the exquisite electrical feeling that buzzes through both of you. You’re riding him with every intention of chasing both of your releases, every thrust down having him gripping your hips harder and harder to the point where you’re half-aware of the bruises you’re sure to have after. He dips back to the crook of your shoulder one last time, licking up the length of your neck with the flat of his tongue before suddenly, the piercing feeling of his teeth against your shoulder shocks through you. You shriek in the mix of pain in pleasure, letting your head roll back to allow him more access. 

“Mine.” He growls into your ear. “Understood?” 

“Fuck-yes!” You cry, feeling the coil in your lower stomach begin to tighten. “Yours. All of me, all that I am, yours.”

Fuck it. Right now, right here. All you needed was him. 

He’s driving you crazy with a pleasure more intense than you could have imagined, his body moving against yours with a raw, primal force. With each deep, hard thrust, you feel him claiming you, leaving you completely at his mercy, and the sense of submission only adds to the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if he knows your body better than you do, and he’s able to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. Knowing you’re both on the brink, he reaches out, grabbing one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your palm, then your bandaged wrist, then your arm, then where he just marked his teeth into your skin, all the way back to claim your lips. It’s maddening and intoxicating all at once, it’s perfect, and you find yourself being flown over the edge.

“That’s-” he lets out his own string of curses as you tighten around him, “that’s it, that’s it! So fucking good!”

Your mind is so fried from your orgasm that you barely register him all but throwing you onto the couch, didn’t even register the feel of the fabric on your back. But you most definitely felt him suddenly thrusting back into you, hooking one of your legs over your shoulder to allow him full and complete access to you. He’s more than happy to press kisses to the inside of your thigh, which mixed with the fully lewd sounds of his quickened pace, is enough to get you fully sex drunk and delirious as he continues to plow into you. 

“Gods, you look so-” he bites your thigh, and the same shriek escape your throat, combined with your drunken moans and whines, and it’s enough to make him groan deeply into the flesh he’s biting. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Please!” You whine, voice cracking as your hands balling into fists as your mind struggles to comprehend the amount of pleasure flowing through you right now. “I need it, need to feel it! Vander, please!” That’s more than enough to ruin him, Vander dropping your leg so he could crash down and kiss you as he buried himself deep into you with one final thrust. You felt him groan against your lips and claw at your hips as he emptied himself into you, his chest rising and falling with each panted breath. 

You remain wrapped up in each other's embrace as several minutes pass, your lips moving against one another’s in a satisfied and languid kiss until he finally pulls away to catch his breath. He gasps for air, his warm breath fanning across your collarbone and sending a shiver through you.

Eventually, he can finally speak again, and he releases a deep, satisfied moan, “Fuuuuuck, that was good.” He manages to lift himself up slightly, gazing down at you with eyes filled with an adoring love, as they reach for your hand, their fingers brushing over your knuckles with a tenderness that makes your heart warm. You smile back at him, feeling giddy and blissful. “You alright, Love?”

Taking a deep, calming breath yourself as your consciousness slowly returns to you, you slide your hands up around his neck. “Oh Gods, yeah.” You laugh, and the smile he cracks is so wide, you’re sure he’s going to hurt himself. His head bends down, peppering your face full of kisses until you’re giggling and pushing him away. “...We should probably maybe move off the couch, though…and maybe grab our clothes before the guys get back.”

He whines a little, but concedes. “Right, yeah, hang on…”

Bless him, he carefully maneuvers you into your room, masterfully managing to stay completely in you until you’re laying on your bed. Then, with one final kiss, you feel him pull out before wandering back to the living room to collect all your things as you begin to clean yourself. It takes mere moments, but it feels like ages until he’s back in the room with you, tucking the both of you into your blankets as you begin to seep into the cozy warmth of your shared bodies. 

For a while, you just sit there, the two of you wrapped in warmth and quiet. Every now and then, he gently adjusts the blanket around you, their touch always light, always careful, like he’s trying to wrap you in comfort from every direction. You laugh softly when he tries to adjust your pillow for the third time, but it’s a light, easy sound, one that feels like things are returning to normal again.

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. The room feels full of little moments like this—touches that reassure, smiles that say everything without needing to be said. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, but time feels slower, softer, in the best way. The world outside seems distant, like you’re tucked away in this small bubble of calm, where everything feels safe and cared for.

It’s simple, it’s quiet, but in that space, it’s everything.

[luxcuriousao3]

I've been messing around lately, writing Ghost in different ways to see which rings most true to his character (in my opinion). I wouldn't say that it does ring true for me in this one (then again this one did spawn from my stalker!Ghost thots, tho this fic isn't part of that universe), but I decided to post it anyway. So this little ficlet, despite being xReader, is more of a Ghost character study than anything else. This characterization is definitely experimental, and leans into the "Ghost and Simon are separate personalities" headcanon. No smut, but still NSFW.

Ghost x general's daughter!Reader

You were the daughter of some aging General, a balding, pot-bellied man on his way out, an honorable discharge in his near future. You’d come to visit him on the base, a tray of gooey brownies held firmly in your hands, two hot cocoas balanced on top, and a visitor’s badge pinned to your chest.

Initially, Ghost hadn’t taken much notice of you. Pretty thing, would be easy to kill, was his first impression. A casual, fleeting thought that he paid no attention to but made Simon shudder. There had been a time that when Ghost was in control, Simon was entirely unaware. He would come to and hours could have passed, sometimes days, or, on one particularly grueling campaign, even weeks. It was how he knew there was something evil lurking inside him. But in the desert, all was revealed, and Simon and Ghost were irrevocably tangled up in one another, the same but not, like two different sides of a single coin.

It wasn’t until you walked straight into his firm, broad chest and spilled the scaldingly hot drinks on him that he really noticed you.

Clumsy fuckin’ bird, Ghost thought angrily as he grunted in pain. Should break your bloody wings.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” You chirped, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He waited for you to flinch and look away when you saw his mask, but you didn’t. You just shifted your tray of brownies to one hand, the other fluttering uselessly over his soaking wet chest for a few seconds, before you grabbed the hem of your dress in a panic and lifted it up to try and dry him off with it.

Your dress was long, long enough to keep you from flashing him entirely, but he still caught an eyeful of your legs, even a glimpse of your plush thighs. At least until you realized what you were doing and dropped your dress again with a squeak of embarrassment, cheeks reddening.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated earnestly, as Ghost stared down at you in bemusement. It wasn’t often he was shocked by someone’s behavior, but you were just so odd. It was, admittedly, amusing. Watching you squawk and try to smooth your ruffled feathers was like watching someone who’d tried to kill him choke on their own blood. Entertaining. Satisfying. Vaguely erotic.

“Are you okay?” You finally remembered to ask, reaching out to touch him again, as if to check him over. Ghost’s hands shot up, one wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip, the other moving to stop your dessert tray—which was tilting dangerously—from falling. He could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his finger tips, and the warmth of your skin seeped through his glove.

“M’fine,” he said shortly, voice deep and grumbly but not as hostile as usual. Simon’s influence, no doubt. Ghost almost rolled his eyes. His other half always banged on and on about treating ladies with proper respect. Ghost wasn’t particularly interested in sex with other people, preferring to fuck his own fist if the urge grew too great to ignore, but he thought about bending you over right here in this hallway and bullying Simon’s big cock into you, just to spite him.

“Oh! Thank you,” you said with a charming smile, entirely ignorant to the image he’d conjured up of you. One he found himself enjoying more than he’d thought he would. “I really am sorry,” you said for the third time, like a parrot echoing itself. Little bird indeed. “I’m such a klutz. Except for when I’m dancing. Then I’ve got at least a modicum of grace.”

Beneath his mask, Ghost raised a brow. Had he mistakenly given off the impression that he cared?

His silence was pointed, and you flushed deeper. You pushed the tray of brownies towards him, seemingly unphased by the grip he still had on it and your wrist. He let go.

“Go ahead, take it,” you said encouragingly, holding out the treat insistently. “It’s the least I can do to make up for ruining your shirt… I can always make more for Daddy another day.”

Simon’s cock twitched, and this time the dirty thoughts in their head were entirely his. Though Ghost could admit the thought of you calling him Daddy in that sweet little voice of yours, all innocent and sincere, was appealing. Perhaps there was something attractive about fucking another person after all.

“Don’t want any,” Ghost answered after a moment, and your face fell. But instead of taking his words for the dismissal they were, you perked back up and continued talking.

“Do you not like brownies? I can make you something else and come back tomorrow,” you offered, for some unknowable reason. Both Simon and Ghost were astounded the conversation had lasted this long, and worse yet, showed no signs of ending. “I can make lemon bars, white chocolate truffles, pudding, anything you’d like.. But nothing too fancy.” You giggled. No one had ever giggled in Ghost’s presence before. “I’m no professional baker. I just do it when the mood strikes, or when Daddy is craving something sugary. He’s the one who taught me to bake. Oh! Do you have any allergies? Nuts, gluten, anything? I don’t want to poison you…”

And on and on you went, rambling like Ghost was actually listening to you. Except that he was. Perhaps it was cruel curiosity, wanting to see how long you’d carry on making a fool of yourself. Or maybe it was Simon pitying you for the nerves in your voice, not wanting to interrupt you and make you more anxious. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were showing Ghost more kindness than he had ever received in his life.

Simon had experienced the joys of living, of companionship and love. Ghost had not, though he’d seen it all through their eyes. He hadn’t really thought that he was missing out on anything.

But now, with a lovely little dove like you offering to bake for him—not Simon, but Ghost—he thought he maybe he was, if just a tad. Especially if your pussy tasted as sweet as your baked goods smelled.

[idolomantises]

I’ve seen people make excuses for the writing by mentioning it’s all just set up for spin offs and sequels but… I don’t want that? Why on earth would I want to wait 3 years for a show to say “oh by the way these characters will get proper conclusions in the spin offs”.

Just tl:dr I’m over this series and don’t plan on watching any of the sequels or spin offs. Maybe if they introduce a hot robot character I’ll check it out.

There’s not even a promise that every single character that has an inconclusive ending (which is all of them btw) will have spin offs and sequel shows. I’m pretty sure they’re likely going to just use a completely different cast since League has a lot of characters.

I’ve seen arguments that the season is bad because it has very few episodes and wasn’t spaced out, and while I do agree the pacing is terrible I also… don’t even think this show could have been salvaged if they gave it a full 4 seasons. Because either way, it was going to end with a lot of characters being badly written, sideline and having arcs unfinished so it can be explored in sequels and spin offs (if that even happen).

One thing I liked about arcane is that it avoided a lot of really bad tropes that I’ve seen modern queer media weirdly struggle with. Arcane avoided the pitfalls written female characters, female characters used to push male relationships and very clearly abusive couples that are dismissed just because they’re gay.

Then season 2 happens and Mel becomes a disposable black woman trope, Sky only existed for male angst, Maddie is literally there for shock value and adds nothing to the narrative, Vi just… turned into that and Caitvi is toxic yuri in a way that’s very unfun and frustrating. These two are seriously so incompatible for each other, but they make out and have sex a lot so I’m sure this destructive relationship with warring idealogies will be fine. Please queer shows for the love of god stop assuming gay characters kissing and fucking makes up for their lack of communication and horrible behavior to each other.

Honestly I’m really disappointed that all these things happened to Sky, Mel and Maddie because watching fans tear apart female characters for 4 years just for existing and getting in the way of ships only for them to be exactly that and for fans to cheer about their suffering pisses me off so bad like girl… what the hell happened did the writers have amnesia. How do you write this show right after season one and fuck up this bad.

Maybe we should stop making videos about how tv shows write female/queer characters well until they’re actually done because this is getting ridiculous.

And yes I want to come back to the issue with how black characters were treated because I do find it pretty gross for Mel and Ekko to be absent for most of the show but then come back to basically save the day so fans don’t complain about how they were obviously sidelined for the sake of other characters. I dont really care for Ekko/Jinx but I did enjoy their time together in the AU.

And another annoyance is that this show did such an incredible job at introducing moral greyness to the show but then got scared to really commit to giving these characters any consequences. And I don’t mean like death or going to jail, but I mean holding grudges. I think Jinx is a very interesting and tragic character but she’s also… a terrorist? She caused the death of their friends and father? Like she’s a grown woman making these decisions. Having characters run around and risk their lives to save her felt a bit frustrating because yeah circumstances lead to this but half of these circumstances are also her fault. I really wish the entire season was about Vi choosing whether or not she was ready to forgive Jinx instead of basically accepting her back because Vander is back.

And VANDER…. Actually I won’t say anything because the more I mention him the more it pisses me off.

I have more thoughts but I gotta draw some comics so I’ll just leave at that. Disappointing season that I think is a lot worse than fans insist it is. It’s not one or two issues, it’s just compounding problems that won’t improve.

Thoughts on Arcane season 2

I didn’t like this season

It’s not bad, but I found it incredibly rushed, cramped and deeply unsatisfying

While season 1 had several protagonists it was also pretty obvious that Vi and Jinx were the emotional core of the entire show so why on earth was their dynamic barely explored here

Vi went from being my favorite character to a character I found deeply frustrating and annoying. What the hell is her personality of getting her sister back and fucking the hot lesbian. She has no consistency whatsoever and it’s something I don’t think the show realizes how batshit the constant flip flopping in. What do you mean you sister tells you she’s going to kill herself and then you start fucking your messy situationship

I don’t really care for Jayvik but I found Jayce’s confession very sweet.

Mel my beautiful queen they’re gonna call you a Mary Sue

What the fuck was with all that Witch shit and Ambessa’s death was incredibly unsatisfying

Victor fans who kept begging the team to not make him a hot buff robot so he can still be a skinny twink pisses me off so bad because now we have an inferior twink robot design. I know fans probably didn’t influence this but I also need to complain about their lack of taste like what do you mean you didn’t want to see a hot buff robot man.

Ekko feels like an incredibly unimportant character and I’m pretty sure fans only like him because of what he can do for Jinx. A part of me wished he actually did hold a grudge just to see how fans reacted.

Season 1 was all about setting up emotional complexities and how nobody was truly evil and the show made it seem like there was no way for anyone to fully recovery from this but everyone is holding hands and singing kumbaya’s so alright nevermind then

This show was honestly a little too in love with Jinx. I did not enjoy her writing in acts 1 and 2.

The jokes were really bad this season

The songs oh my god the SONGS. I didn’t mind them in season 1 but in season 2 it started to remind me of love is blind and anyone who has watched that show would know what a massive insult that is.

Caitvi lesbian sex scene and I couldn’t even enjoy it because the writing was pissing me off

Caitlyn should’ve continued her little fascist arc.

Mel’s arc this season felt like weird fanfiction.

A bunch of random side characters die off unceremoniously after the show gave them so much unnecessary screen time

I hated Isha sorry. I’ve never seen a character more clearly made to die.

Jinx death means nothing to me because I know she isn’t dead so why even do all that lol

I will never call this show sexist but it has done a massive disservice to its female characters.

[rafaslittleboy]

older & wiser

big brother! sonny carisi x reader

summary: sonny overhears a private conversation between yourself and your older cousin mia about lack of self pleasuring tools and decides to take it upon himself to help you (ft. a dick mould that he got for his first year of college as a joke… but it comes in handy).

warnings: brother-sibling incest, use of small vibrator, clit play, reader isn’t gendered but has clit & vagina, kissing, fingering, sonny uses a very special dildo on you 😉

special thanks to the love of my literal life @noellawrites for editing this majorly for me. love you forever ❤️

Sonny nursed half of a beer can as he listened to his sisters talk, zoning in and out of their conversations. Baby talk, gossip about co-workers, talking about the ‘bad’ stuff their husbands have done (lack of washing dishes, not doing laundry—stuff the husbands should have been doing). Uninteresting conversations, to say the least. Nothing he could relate to.

His own relationship with Amanda had been… not the best. She was a piece of work and treated him like crap most days. Sonny thought being with her could settle some of his own internal thoughts, help him move on from someone that he really shouldn’t be falling for.

“Sonny, be an angel and go n’ tell ‘em both that dinner’s almost finished, you know how those two can be,” his mom told him as she pulled out a casserole from the oven, steam wafting in her face.

Sonny let out a strangled grunt as he sat up and placed his open can on the coffee table. He was getting old and any sudden movement strained his muscles—all those years running around as a detective really caught up to him now that his job is to sit down at a desk all day.

It had been a while since the whole family had come together. So many scheduling conflicts and Sonny’s hectic schedule always changing at the last minute; you never got to see your brother. Still living at home, you never got to see any of your siblings because they were far older than you—your oldest sister was in her fifties, while you were in your early twenties.

“--oh god, Mia,” your voice was heard through the cracked door, and he frowned at first but stayed behind the door to listen in. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“Oh my god,” she gasped, “is this what you use?” and a giggle followed afterwards. “It’s so small!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, “can we put it back now?” and you reached out to grab the tiny matte black vibrator but she held it back just enough that you couldn’t grab it from her hand.

“This is like… travel sized, I bring something like this with me on road trips.”

You groaned again, “please just give it back, it’s making me feel weird seeing it in the light.”

Mia finally gave in and tossed it back to you, “you should get a real one, something that can actually get you off. Like a boyfriend, to begin with,”

“Mom doesn’t want me to date yet,” Sonny hears a drawer open and close, “she says that ‘I’m her last baby and she wants me to do things right because everyone else didn’t’.”

“Like fuck?” Mia said, and he heard you groan. “Come on, it’s your life. She can’t tell you what to do.”

“I know, I know. I just… don’t want to go against her wishes.”

“You know, you could do other things with guys. When I started college, me and this guy jerked each other off—technically, that wasn’t having sex.”

Sonny frowned, he didn’t really exactly want to know about Mia’s sexual escapades and he should have really just told you both that dinner was ready–but something was stopping him. The buried, perverted part of him wanted to hear; but only for what you had to say.

Sonny knew it was weird, having these taboo feelings towards you. He tried to ignore the fact that he had watched you grow up and was still attracted to you. But with you in your twenties and single, he truthfully believed no one was good for you other than himself. That he was your soulmate.

That’s why he kept it all dead and buried. Secretly, behind all of his ADA work and previous detective work, he went against all of his own morals to harbor feelings towards his baby sibling. He was a pervert and he knew it.

“... Maybe,” you exhaled, “I just—the guy I want has a girlfriend, or is about to, anyway. I don’t just want to do something with just anyone. I want him.” Your voice trailed off into something Sonny identified as sadness.

Your reply had Sonny frowning again in thought. Who were you talking about? From the information from his sisters and mother about you, you weren’t seeing or talking to anyone. If you were to tell any of your sisters anything about your personal–personal life, you would always tell Bella. And unfortunately for you, if Sonny wanted to get any information from his little sister, she was the weakest link and would tell him with little pressure.

Who exactly were you referring to? The perverted side of him hoped it was him you liked.

After a while, Sonny decided he had been lingering long enough and was getting hungry. He stood straight and cleared his throat, opening your door.

“What’re you two doin’ up here?” as if he didn’t just listen to your whole conversation.

“Nothing,” Mia said with a stifled smile, “just… small talk,” and then she laughed and you pushed her shoulder in an attempt to get her to shut up. Your face went a few shades darker with embarrassment and you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Anyway, mom said dinner’s ready.” Sonny said, “‘ya better get down there before it’s all gone, ‘ya know how our sisters are.”

Mia got up first and her wide smile didn’t falter as she left, ducking under Sonny’s extended arm.

“You comin’?”

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, and half of it was genuine. You got up off your bed and followed down the stairs behind your big brother.

—

For the next few days, Sonny couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. He saw you reaching for salad dressing and thought about you using that tiny vibrator to desperately get yourself off. You needed a real cock, someone who really knew how to pleasure you. And he knew it had to be him, your own big brother, as he jerked himself off in his childhood bedroom right next to yours in the middle of the night.

–

“Sonny, hey,” you said softly as you sat up, closing the lid of your laptop and pushing it off to the side.

It was late at night, nearing midnight and you were working on an essay for school before you put it off for too long and had to write the whole paper in one night before it was due.

“Jus’ wanted to check in on you,” he said, and he walked forward and sat down on the edge of your bed. “You uh… you doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m okay.” you reply, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, kiddo. I, uh, I got a gift for ‘ya,” he says, giving you a little half-smile.

From behind his back, Sonny pulls out a wrapped gift, slightly smaller than a shoe box.

“Wh-what—?”

“Jus’ open it, baby,” he urges, placing it in your hands. You follow his lead, pulling the ribbon off and unwrapping the box. You look up at him briefly before opening the lid. What you see inside almost makes your heart stop.

“Dude—“ your eyes widened at the object in the box. a dildo, a really real dildo, staring back at you. it was a deep peach color that faded to a red at the tip.

“Why?”

“…Mia might’ve said somethin’ to me,” he fabricated, it was the only excuse he had, really. And it wasn’t as if you were going to go and ask her, either. “About your… uh… lack of experience.”

“Oh, god,” you put your head in your hands to avoid looking at him. “She shouldn’t have told you anything, I shouldn’t have even told her about it.”

“Gotta tell ya, I’m a little upset.” Sonny placed the toy back inside the padded box and placed it away from you both. You peeked over your fingertips to look at him. “Would’a thought you would’ve come to me ‘bout all this.”

“Well… you’re my brother, I just thought you’d… I don’t know, judge me.”

Sonny tuts, “in my line of work, kid? I’m more approachable than our sista’s.” And he’s right, because you didn’t go to your sisters or your parents–Mia only found out by pure accident and a slip of the tongue.

“I—I guess so.” you say, lowering your eyes to the ground.

When Sonny lifts up your chin with his finger, your eyes meeting his in an oddly intimate gaze.

“I wanna help ‘ya, baby.”

“I dunno, Sonny. You’re… my brother,” you sigh.

“I’ll lock tha’ door, kid. ‘Ya ain’t gotta worry, hm? Jus’ gonna be between me ‘n you.” he hums.

He doesn’t wait for your response, hands moving to your sides and shimmying down your underwear.

As much as you hated to admit it, his touches drove you crazy. He looked at you so tenderly and it made your pussy throb. You never knew that your own older brother could make you feel so sexually charged.

“How’s this feelin’, baby?” he coos, running one finger up and down your slit while his other hand rests on your tummy.

“‘S-s’ good, Sonny,” you whimper, reminding Sonny of all those sweet moments you’ve shared as siblings. And now, you were moving so far away from that.

Sonny watched as your pussy juice dripped onto your bedding, leaving a little damp spot below you.

“Where’s ‘ya lil’ toy?” he asks, glancing at your bedside table.

“Uh–um…” you blush, reaching under your pillow and pulling out the tiny toy he’d seen you and Mia looking at a few days before.

He takes it from you gently, smiling as he goes back down to your pussy. He moves the bullet to your clit and savors your reaction, hips jutting upward as he presses the ‘on’ button.

“oh—Sonnnyy,” you moan, head falling back onto your pillow. Your older brother was making you feel better than you ever had, doing the same exact thing you’d tried countless times before.

Sonny moves the bullet downwards, inching it into your entrance as you gasp and try to keep yourself quiet. He slides it in and you can feel tears escaping your eyes at the blissful feeling of being fucked.

Then, the bullet died. You raised your head just enough to let out a single sob of discomfort, your eyebrows furrowing and thighs falling even further because of said discomfort. Your hips shimmy to get any sort of feeling back on your sensitive bud.

“Hey… s’alright,” Sonny said as he placed it on your nightstand, “I can use my fingers, see?”

Within a few seconds, Sonny had one fingertip on the outside of your underwear and was circling your clit in slow strokes. He heard you sigh in relief due to the brief absence of pleasure in your little bud. His fingertip was firmer than the plastic vibrator, you could feel the difference and preferred his fingers more.

Sonny was loving it more than he expected. Pleasuring you and making you feel good awoke something in him, and he never wanted to go back in holding back his feelings for you.

He used his free hand to turn your face so he could press a soft kiss on your lips, and your mind was so clouded that you kissed him back without a second thought. You let your own hidden thoughts and feelings about your older brother take charge (like they did when you touched yourself, but this time, you didn’t feel disgusted while it happened). Sonny’s lips were soft and by god he knew how to kiss, taking charge immediately and opening your mouth to him.

Sonny swallowed your sound of disappointment when he took his fingertips off your swollen clit and then he swallowed your moan when the same fingertips slid down to your dripping slit, feeling up and down the arousal he caused.

“S’this for me?” he asked against your lips and you nodded, “fuck–yeah, you–it’s for you,” and he smiled at your response. You’re so desperate.

When he reached for the toy, you were disappointed. You didn’t know why you expected him to pull himself out and fuck you; this whole time with him was supposed to be him teaching you how to use the toy he got you.

He placed the tip against you and slid it through your folds, your wetness coating his huge head. He bit his plump lip and his eyebrows furrowed together, now he was really imagining it being his cock–you were incredibly wet and he wanted to swap places with his molded cock.

“Shh, it’s just the head, you can take it,”

Sonny began slowly fucking you with the dildo, bringing it out until only the tip was inside you, to pushing it all the way back in until it barely kissed your cervix.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “just take it, relax…”

He smoothed his palm over your tummy and sprawled out his fingers. Sonny closed his eyes and tried—and he really did try—to imagine it was him inside you, making you make those little noises, making you feel good. To imagine pushing inside you and feeling your warm and wet hole contract around him.

Technically, it was. It was him inside you, making you feel so good.

You were taking his cock, despite it being a silicone copy. You were taking it like a champ, half of it being able to fill you and he knew that if he trained you enough you would be able to take all of it. Maybe that’s another activity he can do with you.

Sonny moved so he was between your legs and your eyes were transfixed to the very hard bulge in his gray sweatpants. Your pupils dilated even more and your mouth filled with saliva, legs spreading just a little more with pure want. You felt your insides throb at the thought of him inside you and you wanted nothing more than his body weight on top of you and his hard cock thrusting inside you until he was satisfied.

Your small hand wrapped around his wrist and he looked at you with soft, yet lust-blown eyes, “can I… can I see yours?”

It was a question he never expected you to ask him. He had obviously worked you up so much that lust had clouded your mind and you asked for what you wanted.

“You sure?” His hand rubs your bare thigh, and you felt the warmth from his palm on your burning skin and all you wanted was more. Your big brother’s fingers inside you again, and your eyes were locked onto the bulge in his sweatpants and your mouth watered at the idea of doing more than seeing it—but you had decorum (what was left, anyway) and you didn’t have the confidence to ask him to put it in your mouth.

“Yeah,” your voice came out as a hoarse whisper and you watched as Sonny’s thick and long fingers went to the waistband of his sweats and pulled down just enough that his cock slipped out and bobbed at the extra room–no longer being confined–and he heard your audible gulp at your first sighting at his very real, very erect cock.

Sonny hoped you didn’t recognise the shape as he held his sex-toy-copy in his spare hand, but he watched as you tore your eyes from it and to his face; “it’s… big,” is all you said.

“Can I touch it?” You licked your bottom lip.

Without answering, Sonny took your limp wrist and placed your loose hand on his cock, your fingers curling around his thick cock and he groaned at the first contact. Your head tipped to rest on his shoulder as you familiarized yourself with his cock, fingers tightening and your fingertips just barely touching.

“I bet you get all the girls and guys,” you smile lazily, eyes half lidded as your teeth bite your bottom lip. You wanted nothing more than for that to be inside you instead.

“Ya’ jealous?” He smirks and rubs the tip of the toy against your opening, sliding it up to your clit then back down again, teasing you.

As you muffle your moan and tug on his cock, Sonny decides that he has to fuck you one way or another—and right then, he wanted to fuck you with the toy. He wanted you somewhat used to having something big inside you before he even thought about convincing you to let him guide his cock inside you and fuck you hard and soft.

“Fuck–jesus, oh my god,” your back arched slightly as he thrust the tip inside you, already pushing you to the edge. He moved his wrist slowly, working you open enough to be able to take the tip of the toy. Sonny had been playing with you for so long that he had your body hyper-sensitive and aching for an orgasm. “Sonny–it’s big–really big–”

Sonny smiled down at you and continued to softly fuck you with it. A soft squelching filled the room and his cock twitched in your loose grip, your fist squeezing down on it lightly when the tip entered you and hit against the spongy spot inside you that you could never reach on your own without an intense arm workout that ultimately failed in the end anyway.

Sonny brought his other hand down to your wet clit and used the pad of his thumb to rub small circles on it, making it impossible to hold the moan that was caught in your throat. It was louder than you thought and Sonny gave you a warning look. Too loud meant that either of you could be caught doing what you were doing and it would’ve been a horrible event to explain.

“Shh, baby… ya need’a be quiet, need’a keep ya tone down. I know m’ makin’ ya feel good.”

You nodded, letting out a really shaky sigh and closing your eyes as Sonny pleasured you. You had to bite your tongue when Sonny slid more of the toy inside you and put more pressure on your clit. “Sonny—” you whined, clenching your eyes shut.

You could feel an orgasm creeping up on you, and it felt different since it wasn’t yourself that was causing it. It was someone else, and more importantly, it was your big brother; The Big Bad ADA. It turned you on more than you’d like to admit, being fucked by a dildo by your own brother while you held his heavy, large cock in your hand and jerked him off the best you could while you were feeling so fucking good.

The pace of the dildo-fucking changed, and you felt it punching inside your wet pussy harder and just a little bit faster and god, you felt so full. You didn’t know how much you were taking of the toy, but it felt like a lot. You wanted to scream that it felt so good, but all you let out was a frustrated, muffled moan held back by your lips.

“Like that, baby? S’it feelin’ good when I fuck ya like this?” His mock-baby-voice and cooing made you feel as if you were a puddle, and you nodded in response. Your hips tried their best to thrust back on the toy, but everything you were feeling was building and building and building into something you couldn’t handle.

You nodded as he fucked you with it even harder and managed to fit at least half of it inside you, leaving a white cream every time he pulled it from inside you and a little damp patch on your blanket with just how wet you were. Your legs shook as he kept it up, his thumb on your clit rubbing hard and fast and the toy punching inside of you had you teetering on the edge and he felt it. Your fist squeezed tight around his cock.

It hit you fast and hard, a few more hard circles from his thumb onto your swollen clit had your tight walls squeezing so hard on the toy inside you, taking only seconds for him to make you cum—hard.

Your fingers squeezed down on his cock as you experienced the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, little spurts leaving your puffy pussy as he fucked the cock into you. The pressure of your fingers along with being painfully hard and turned on allowed Sonny to thrust into your hand and groan deep from his chest as he came. His hot, milky cum shot from the head of his cock and landed on your thighs, pussy and abdomen.

Sonny slumped down on an arm on top of you, breathing hard as he came down from his high and his cock jerking in your loose grip, getting the last bits of himself out and onto your hot, sweat-slicked skin. He let go of the toy inside you and let the tip stay inside you, your bottom half twitching in the aftermath.

“Christ, kid,” Sonny chuckled, wetting his dry lips. “Ya really wrung me out t’dry.”

You let out a breathy laugh along with him and kissed him, because god did you need it. Need him. In your state of mind, you didn’t care about any consequences. You loved your big brother and you were confident he definitely loved you back.

The kiss was sloppy, drool leaving the corner of your mouth as you moaned into each other. Sonny reached between you to slowly slide the toy out from inside you and used his fingers to touch your very oversensitive pussy, swallowing your gasp.

“Came real hard, didn’t ya?” He smiled against your lips, leaning his head back enough to look into your dazed eyes. You smiled and pushed his face away, “don’t get all ‘high horse’ on me, counselor.”

He kissed you again, “next time, it ain’t gonna be the toy.”

And god, you wanted nothing more than that.

[slytherinslut0]

Hi! Ok ok question, do you think the guys would like plus size girls? Or like very avrage girls physically, like the ones who have cruves, cellulite, acne, and genuently not the like 'conventionally pretty' kind. (Feeling so insecure right now)

I feel like Theodore is the most likely to like chubby or plus size girls, maybe unpopular opinion but Tom as well, like really full, curvy girls? Am I delulu??

hi love!!!!! i had a previous ask similar to this for matty, you can find it here. 🤍 also this one.

my stance is the same but to answer your question directly, there is no one size fits all for these boys. these boys would love you regardless of shape size skin tone—it doesn’t matter. you are fucking beautiful the way you are, and without even knowing who you are i know you have a heart of gold and for that alone, they would drool for you.

i have said this before, but every single one of these boys love that extra PHAT (plenty o’ hips and thighs).

also like, funny enough, i asked my guys friends what their thoughts on cellulite were and half of them don’t even know what it is.😭 real men don’t care about the marks on your body—whether it be cellulite stretch marks acne scars HAIR—they just care about you. 🤍

in my opinion, tom would love someone who treats him humanly. theo would love someone who can match his wit. mattheo would love someone who doesn’t give up on him. blaise would love someone who’s as easy going as he is. enzo would love someone who’s sunshine with that freaky side. draco would love someone who is patient with him.

this fandom is and always has been all inclusive. do not ever think that you’re not good enough for any of them. you are. you’re more than. 🤍

[sombredancer]

Li Lun, a villain I feel for (Pt. 1/4)

Li Lun was the only character of FoF who stole my heart. From the very beginning it was obvious that Li Lun supposed to be a scapegoat of the narrative. The final plot twist was supposed to be a cherry on the top of the final battle, so GJM needed to bring LL there no matter what. LL's fate is in his very name: 离仑 (lí lún). The character 离 means “to be separated”, “to stay apart”; “to keep distance”; “to be alone”, “to break up”, “to become in opposition”; “to turn away” and also “to break into pairs”.  The character 仑 is used only in the name of the mountain Kunlun (昆仑), which is, as we know, a cradle of demons and a gate to the Great Wilderness. All of these meanings match Li Lun perfectly: he is deeply tied to his demonic homeland, yet is separated from the man who used to be his soulmate and opposites him now in loneliness.

Li Lun also was the only character whose story was shown to us not  as a strange flashback after the main events happened (as it was with any other story-within-a-story in this drama) but was fed to us with small portions (as it should actually have been worked out for each of side stories). It was, firstly, the main reason I was emotionally involved in Li Lun’s story – I genuinely tried to guess what happened between LL and the main hero in the past, it caught my attention. And secondly – reshuffling the pieces of LL’s backstory and spreading them across the narrative were the only ways to conjure the illusion that LL’s part of the plot works at all.

"Zhao Yuanzhou, do you still remember your old friend? Whom of your new friends should I kill first?"

When we see Li Lun for the first time in ep 3, he seems like a real villain of the story: he is in chains, looks insanely hot and hotly insane. We find out very quickly that he is absolutely obsessed with his former friend, the main hero, and wants to take revenge on him so badly as if the main hero killed the whole LL’s family and ate LL’s cutie puppy for breakfast. In the first part of the story he looks really intimidating: it is scary when your enemy could literary be anyone around you because Li Lun can possess any body. (And later we find out that there is absolutely no villain in this story, because LL is a Byronic hero and Big Bad in Mask is just a piece of furniture, because no one of the mains remembers of him and gives a single flying heck about him for the most of the story.)

But to look through their story soberly, let me recap it for you in the chronological order.

Once upon a time, something like 30 000+ years ago, two demons were born in Great Wilderness, a sophora tree spirit and a white ape spirit. They were equals in their powers, were friends for many millennias and finally became Great Demons. Hundreds of years ago they anonymously saved the Great Wilderness from destruction and swore to protect their homeland at any cost.

You all know what a hairpin means in Chinese dramas , don't you? 🌚

LL works his magic to make ZYZ happy. Although they had different mindsets, they genuinely care for each other: the main hero (ZYZ) tried to show his rigid wooden friend things he never even thought about, and LL, in return, tried to learn from ZYZ and to make him happy, too.

LL wanted to silent a kid with magic, but ZYZ taught him that no magic needed to chase someone's megrim away. The kid's as well as LL's. ZYZ loved humans and their world and LL was irritated by them and cautious about them, so ZYZ was teaching him how to treat humans right.

They exchanged gifts, a rattle drum and an umbrella. And it was so important for both LL and ZYZ that each turned mate’s gift into a spiritual weapon.

But they exchanged even more valuable gifts, too: ZYZ gifted LL his unique magic ability – Truth Eye, the ability to see the true essence of everything. Not having it anymore, he could rely now only on his heart to see LL’s heart, so giving it away was the brightest expression of his trust and love for LL. And LL gifted him a root of sophora  – a part of his true body, which was… pretty much the same expression of love and trust.

ZYZ gifts LL his Truth Eye. But one day, 8 years ago, when they both were on a date in the mortal world, they accidently found a dungeon where their fellow demons were kept captive and tortured by humans. Li Lun, who swore to protect his homeland and its habitants and was prejudiced against humans, went to berserk rage and killed not only those who tortured demons, but also everyone in a building where this dungeon was located.

He also set free all the demons in the dungeon, included Ao Ying, the demoness who can change her appearance and will serve him later.

Trying to stop LL from killing even more people, ZYZ accidently mortally wounded LL with the power of Everburning Wood he just got. It was unintentional but fatal anyway.

For his crimes LL was immediately caught and sealed in the place of his birth (a dark and lifeless cave). Although the seal could stop him from dying, it took his freedom away for eternity, which was very painful for a creature who cultivated really hard to get ability to move (he is a tree, after all). ZYZ was somewhat upset with it. OK, being upset because of your former friend’s loss of freedom is a good thing, but what happened between the sealing of LL and the current events of the drama?

So, you were friends for literally millenias, you were very close, maybe in BL way, so close, that each of you literally gave a part of his body to other. One of you flew into a rage (fairly speaking, he had a reason to be enraged) and killed people in the heat of passion. And you accidently killed him trying to stop him. Is he a criminal? Yes, obviously. Should you be surprised by your mate’s behavior and not think of it as of something typical for him? Yes, otherwise why were you still friends for so many thousands of years? Would you try to persuade him or to bring him back into his sanity? Yeah, I think. Would you feel guilt because of unintentional killing him off? Yes, of course. But ZYZ didn’t do and feel any of that.

OK, maybe he is too righteous and any unjustified deed put his relationship with a sinner to its and. Oh, no? He eagerly forgives a spy who works for Big Bad in Mask, he forgives a man who hurt him badly and intentionally sent him into diabolic rage which could lead to numerous victims. He even understands and is nice to other demons who kill people. (And, as I remember, in ep 1 ZYZ killed by himself one of demon hunter’s bureau warriors in order to intimidate ZYC. I watched it only once, so I’m not sure if I didn’t notice some trick there, but still). He only despises LL. Also, he didn’t give a flying heck about who tortured all these demons and why (spoiler: it was Big Bad in Mask, and everything would be much easier, if ZYZ cared about it). And later, he regrets that he unintentionally killed his friend and a family of his current boyfriend, but he never regretted he killed Li Lun.

In the beginning of the drama ZYZ obviously despises him and calls him "a scumbag who has to stay in shadows", although LL has to stay in shadows partly because of a mortal wound caused by ZYZ, and can't be counted as scumbag because all the wrongs he did were caused by desire to protect people of his own kind and not because he liked human sufferings or such evil stuff. LL obviously tries to speak to ZYZ and to find out what happened between them (and honestly, I still want to get this answer, too), and ZYZ, for reason unknown, has absolutely no desire to talk about their problems with LL.

It all feels strange. And not fair to LL. Here is Part 2

[vidavalor]

Ok,Since the Good Omens Finale is only going to be 90 minutes,I have a feeling we might not get a flashback sequence.

Hi there, @rougeside4 💕 I made an apple pie, if you want some. 😊Allow me to offer a different take? I wouldn't worry about this. There will be flashbacks. It's not the show without them.

Short thing on why we're definitely getting flashbacks and on which ones we can maybe see as being very likely still in The Finale.

The secret sauce of Good Omens, imho, is that the real juice of the story is actually always in the flashbacks. The flashbacks that we see are not random; they're always written to support the story in the present. There's a point to why it is these flashbacks we are seeing-- and when and in what order we are seeing them--when Crowley and Aziraphale have been on Earth for over 6,000 years and we could see any of their adventures. They're designed to inform our understanding of the story in the present. The real beating heart of the story is in the scenes set in the past and the story in the present would lack... *searches for words* emotional resonance? thematic weight? general, dramatic oomph? all of these?... if they were to cut the past. Put more plainly: it would suck 😂, and they're smart enough not to do that.

I think some of the most exciting parts of The Finale are actually going to be the flashbacks, just like how they were always the biggest treats in S1 and S2. In the way that they roll those out to us, piece by piece, they're changing our understanding of what we're watching in the present. The meaning of the story in the present is driven by the flashbacks in the past to a point that you cannot have one without the other.

Good Omens is actually driving all of its suspense and anticipation through the story in the past and that's what makes its non-linear storytelling clever. After all, right now, most people know this thing has a happy ending and aren't worried about that, right? We know Crowley and Aziraphale will get back together and be fine and no one is stressing over that. (And if you are... really? Guys. Honestly?! It's called Good Omens. It's a romance. It's a sweet, cuddly show. It's going to be fine. 💕)

So, what are we curious about, if not where it's going in the present?

1941, Part 3, right? Whether or not there's an ancient times vavoom coming our way? What the deal is with Jane Austen and/or 1650? Whether or not we might be surprised with a flashback that hasn't already been set up earlier in the story and what that might be?

Our biggest questions in the story aren't about what will happen in the future but about what we might get to see that has already happened in the past.

There is actually no conceivable way to do The Finale without flashbacks because the entire story is built towards having at least a couple of essential ones happen in its end game. I would not be surprised if at least somewhere around a third of The Finale is set in the past. Are there ones that we would have had with a full season that will be cut? Yes, but, are there also ones, though, that are too essential to cut because the entire story for two seasons has been building towards eventually revealing them to the audience in the final part of the story? Oh, yeah. 😉

Guaranteed: 1941, Part 3. There is no chance that they cut this-- none. They have built the ending of this trilogy of flashbacks to support the ending of the story in the present so it has to happen. It doesn't need to be an entire minisode in length. Part 2 really did all the heavy-lifting with plot and themes here, and Part 1 was a single, brilliant, not terribly long scene. If Amazon reduced The Finale to 15 minutes long, I think the show would still find a way to put 1941, Part 3 in there. The first two parts were so pivotal to the themes and parallels of the story in the present and it's the only flashback that we keep getting installments of throughout the story so its Part 3 is going somewhere massive. If there's one flashback that's in The Finale, it's this one.

Extremely, extremely likely: the ancient times vavoom to which they have been building in clues and hints for two seasons that is going to flip the entire show on its head by going back to The Flood. It would parallel and add extra weight to all the conflicts we have in the story in The Finale that were set into motion by the end of S2-- the kiss, one of them leaving/them being separated, the threat of an apocalyptic-like event, etc.. It would, in almost no time at all, complete the narrative magic trick of the show by turning it inside out for the audience.

The show that shows everything backwards has been sitting on the real first kiss the entire time and saving it until the end game of the story and that end game is The Finale so expect that angel and that demon to be sheltering under a canopy from a rainstorm in the very long ago days and break the internet in the process.

If I were them, I'd even open The Finale with this flashback, just because of how much it's going to pull the rug out from under The Final 15. After all, the first two seasons opened with a canopy-and-rain-themed scene, did they not? Just one wing at a time, though... no under a canopy together yet. No gazing into each other's eyes and vavooming. That bit of the beginning of their story has always been going to be shown to us in the end of the story. It could well be the, well, beginning of the end of that story by opening The Finale. We'll have to see. Either way, it's in there.

It's also worth mentioning that both of these above flashbacks would be going back to eras we've already visited in the story so no time would need to be devoted to setting up the scenes. That would seem to make them easier to not cut, in addition to how narratively important they are.

Going To Be In There In Someway, Somehow: A flashback that sets up the South Downs Cottage ending, which is suspected to be the Jane Austen flashback because of her living in real life in the South Downs around the years that it was mentioned in S2 that Crowley and Aziraphale knew her.

When this was set up for S3 back in S2, the Jane Austen story felt juicy enough to potentially be a whole minisode in length. Maybe especially since it's probably how they are going to be build a history of the cottage between Crowley and Aziraphale to help give emotional weight to them going to live there in the present at the end of the story. I've no idea what this looks like with a shortened run time. They might abbreviate or maybe it was never even that long in the first place? They might do something different in its place? It's hard to say, since we don't know, but they've got to do something to set up the cottage, so...

Whatever this winds up being, though, we're now up to three flashbacks that have to happen because of how they connect to the story in the present in The Finale. These are three, non-negotiable ones, basically-- and we are obviously only looking at ones that we can see having been set up already.

There is also the fact that there's usually a surprise flashback that wasn't set up but which is crucial to the story, like the Job minisode was in S2. It fits in perfectly, retrospectively, but we were intentionally not really given enough in S1 to see it coming in S2 so that there was something unpredictable for us to enjoy. I'm not expecting anything as long as Job again but there could still be a scene more 1.03 Cold Open in length that we don't even know is essential at this point because we aren't meant to know at this point but, much like we did with Bildad 😊, we will see as vital to everything once we see it.

Including that as a possibility, we're now up to four flashback scenes that seem unlikely to be chopped from The Finale. What I just described, give or take and depending on the length of 1941, Part 3, is probably collectively getting within shouting distance of the run time of the 1.03 Cold Open-- and that's going really bare bones and only talking about the scenes that seem too story-essential to consider cutting. There's also one more that might meet that criteria...

Could Go Either Way: 1650. If this has nothing to do with Agnes Nutter, it's probably gone. If it's how Agnes has an appearance in the end of the story to pull stuff together, they'll probably find a way to put it in there because... Agnes. 😊

No one knows what this thing is supposed to be about but we do know that it was set up in S2 for S3 and, between Aziraphale mentioning it, the historical ties to eccles cakes to this era, the fact that it could potentially show a Whickber Street in early development and, most importantly, that it's set five years before Agnes Nutter died, whatever this thing is? It's intriguing. We don't know how long it was meant to be but if it's something that was minisode-length but could be reworked to be shorter-- or if just was always short in length-- it's probably still in there.

It's very possible to have many, quality scenes that hop throughout time in a very short period of time. The 1.03 Cold Open is about 23 minutes long and jam-packed with goodness. I have no idea if they're going to sprinkle flashbacks in throughout The Finale or if they're going to do a flashback sequence like 1.03/Ineffable Bureaucracy again but I do think that at least a third of The Finale-- so, roughly 30 minutes of it, give or take-- are likely flashbacks.

We are going into this movie a lot closer to the end of the story in the present than I think it may appear to some at this point. All the set up work to get the characters into place to overthrow The Metatron in The Finale was already done in S2. It's not going to take 90 minutes for Aziraphale to be in trouble, Crowley and Ineffable Bureaucracy to find out and rally the troops, everyone to challenge The Metatron, expose him as a fraud, and kill the threat of Armageddon by overthrowing Heaven and setting it up to be democratized. That's pretty much what everyone knows needs to happen in The Finale and what is likely going to be the main story in the present in S3.

We know what is going to happen because we know it has a happy ending and we know that we need the Armageddon threat gone for the South Downs Cottage happy ending to occur. We know the only answer is that they've got to overthrow The Metatron. Whether you think the plot is Supreme Archangel Aziraphale or whether you're like me and think the plot is that Aziraphale is in mid-fall as of the end of S2 and that's the thing that triggers the other characters to come together against Heaven, the end result is still going to be the same: The Metatron's gotta go and everyone's got to come together to make that happen if we're getting the happy ending we already know we're getting.

We are all sitting here knowing pretty much exactly what the story in the present is going to be in The Finale and that's because the story has set it up so that we do. Yes, there's going to be joy in watching that unfold but a story designed like a magic trick has to have suspense and give the audience a sense of anticipation. We feel that from this story and from where are we getting that?

The past. The flashbacks.

Everyone knows what the end of this story in the present is but no one knows for sure where, say, 1941 is going, or what new things about Crowley and Aziraphale the past will show us in The Finale. Every new thing we see in the past? Changes our view of the present. That's what makes the story clever. It's also what makes it enjoyable. They cannot cut flashbacks because they'd be cutting the most interesting parts of the story and what makes Good Omens the quirky, unique bird it is.

The present and the past are so interwoven in the story that I'm pretty sure that it is impossible to do Good Omens without flashbacks. The only question going into The Finale is which ones they're going to surprise and delight us with. Don't lose faith or sleep over it-- at minimum, we'll see Crowley's 1941 hat again and that, truly, is all any of us really need to survive.

[ghostlyreader09]

snapshots of love

kento nanami x (y/n)

enjoy!!! (i had yellow by coldplay in mind for this so give it a listen for a better experience!)

age 5: the garden grew twice

Kento Nanami was a quiet boy even at five, one who preferred the rhythm of solitude to the clamor of the playground. He found comfort in routine: the deliberate brushing of crumbs off a table, the orderly rows of books in the school library, the steady sound of his grandmother humming while she watered her garden. The world was large, loud, and unpredictable, but here in her small backyard, with the soil under his knees and the scent of marigolds in the air, he could carve out a piece of peace.

You arrived like a pebble breaking the still surface of a pond. His grandmother had called you over from next door, her words soft and warm as she introduced the neighbor’s granddaughter. Your sunhat was comically oversized, the wide brim flopping over your forehead. Dirt already streaked your cheeks, evidence of earlier mischief, but your eyes sparkled beneath the shade of the hat. Kento stared, unsure of what to make of you.

“I’m here to help!” you declared, hands on your hips, as though you’d been assigned a mission of the utmost importance. Without waiting for an invitation, you dropped to your knees beside him, your skirt pooling in the dirt.

Kento said nothing. He liked quiet, and you didn’t seem to understand the concept.

“These seeds,” you said, holding up a handful of tiny kernels, “are going to turn into the biggest sunflowers you’ve ever seen.”

“They’re just seeds,” he replied, his voice flat.

You gasped, as though he’d insulted something sacred. “They’re not just anything! They’re magic. But only if we treat them right.”

“Magic?”

“Yup.” You nodded, utterly serious. “You have to talk to them. Cheer them on. Plants grow better when they feel loved.”

Kento frowned, skeptical. His grandmother had never spoken to her flowers—she simply tended to them with care. He returned to pulling weeds, dismissing your words as nonsense. But you were undeterred. With a dramatic flourish, you buried a seed in the soil, patted the dirt gently, and leaned down until your nose was almost touching the ground.

“You’re going to grow so tall,” you whispered to the seed, your voice soft and encouraging. “You’ll reach the sky one day.”

Kento watched, equal parts amused and baffled. Your determination was infectious, though he would have never admitted it aloud.

“Your turn,” you said, holding out a single seed to him.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the seed in your palm. The idea of speaking to a plant seemed absurd. But your gaze was expectant, your eyes wide with the kind of belief only children possessed, and he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Taking the seed, he pressed it into the soil and stared at it for a long moment.

“Grow,” he mumbled awkwardly.

You giggled, the sound as bright as sunlight breaking through clouds. “See? Now it knows you care.”

Weeks passed, and the garden bloomed as it always did. Kento had all but forgotten about the sunflowers until the day his grandmother called him outside. The air smelled of earth and rain, and the garden was alive with color. But it was the sunflowers that stopped him in his tracks.

Two rows of golden giants swayed gently in the breeze, their faces turned toward the sun. The first row was neat and orderly, the product of his grandmother’s careful planting. But the second row—slightly smaller, slightly wilder—was unmistakably yours.

Kento’s grandmother marveled at the sight, running her fingers along the sturdy stalks. “I didn’t plant these,” she said, her voice tinged with wonder. “How did they grow?”

Kento knew the answer but kept it to himself. He thought of your whispers, your dirt-streaked cheeks, the way you had spoken to the seeds as though they were friends. “(Y/N) told them to grow,” he muttered under his breath.

The next time you visited, he showed you the sunflowers, their golden heads bobbing in the wind. You beamed, your pride as radiant as the blooms themselves. “See? I told you they’d grow. They just needed someone to believe in them.”

Kento didn’t reply. He wasn’t good with words, especially when faced with your boundless enthusiasm. But he felt something stir in his chest as he looked at you, your eyes alight with joy.

It wasn’t love—not yet. He didn’t have the words for it, didn’t understand the quiet pull he felt toward you. But in that moment, standing beside you in the garden, he thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something magical about you after all.

Every time he passed by the sunflowers that summer, he thought of you. And every time, he felt that strange, inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest. Though he didn’t know it then, it was the first seed of something much bigger, something that would grow in the quiet corners of his heart, waiting for the right moment to bloom.

————

age 8: the day the sky broke

Kento Nanami wasn’t the sort of boy who ran headlong into chaos. He was deliberate, careful, and observant, already displaying a maturity that made him seem older than his ten years. At a glance, he might have seemed stoic or cold, but really, he was just trying to keep his balance in a world that often felt unsteady.

That day had begun with the heaviness of an oncoming storm. The sky hung low, bruised with dark clouds that rolled in like soldiers marching to battle. The air was thick and electric, and even the chatter of his classmates felt muffled, like everyone was holding their breath. Kento didn’t care for storms. Rain turned the ground slick and treacherous, and thunder rattled the air like a drumbeat announcing that everything could fall apart at any moment. He preferred days of clear skies and dry ground, where everything made sense and stayed where it was supposed to.

At recess, Kento had retreated to the edge of the playground, sitting under the shelter of the old swing set with a library book balanced on his knees. He wasn’t really reading—he’d read the same sentence three times without absorbing a word—but the act of holding the book gave him an excuse to stay apart from the noisy groups of children. It wasn’t that he disliked them, exactly. He just found their energy overwhelming, their laughter grating when it stretched too loud.

But then there was you.

You were part of the noise, part of the wild tangle of voices that raced across the field, but Kento had always thought you were different. You weren’t the kind of loud that made him want to retreat further into himself. Your laughter, for some reason, felt softer. More inviting. It didn’t push—it pulled.

He watched you now from the corner of his eye as you darted across the field, your ponytail swinging behind you like a banner. You were playing tag, your arms outstretched as you chased another kid, your sneakers kicking up clouds of dust. Even from a distance, Kento could see the determination on your face, the fire in your eyes. You ran like you had no intention of ever slowing down, like the world would simply have to keep up with you.

And then, as if on cue, the first drops of rain began to fall.

It started as a whisper, soft and tentative, but within moments, it was a roar. The sky opened up, unleashing sheets of water that drenched the playground in seconds. The other kids scattered, squealing as they raced for cover under the small awning near the swings. Kento closed his book, tucking it carefully into his bag to protect it from the damp.

But you didn’t run.

He saw you stop in the middle of the field, tilting your head back as the rain poured down. You stood perfectly still, your arms slack at your sides, your face upturned toward the sky. For a moment, Kento thought you were frozen, caught off guard by the sudden storm. But then you moved.

You spread your arms wide and spun in a slow, deliberate circle, your sneakers splashing in the growing puddles. Your laughter rang out across the playground, bright and unrestrained, cutting through the gray like a ray of sunlight.

Kento stared, unsure whether to feel embarrassed for you or annoyed by your recklessness. “What are you doing?” he muttered under his breath, though no one could hear him.

The other kids huddled under the awning, their jackets pulled tight around their shoulders as they whispered and pointed at you. Kento thought about joining them, about blending into the safety of the group. But something kept him rooted to the spot.

“Come back!” one of the kids yelled, their voice barely audible over the pounding rain.

You didn’t listen. Instead, you looked toward the awning—toward him—and waved. “What are you all waiting for?” you shouted, your voice carrying through the storm. “It’s just water!”

Kento felt his cheeks flush. He couldn’t understand you, couldn’t fathom why anyone would willingly stay out in the rain when shelter was so close. You were soaked to the bone, your hair plastered to your forehead and your uniform clinging to your small frame. But you didn’t seem to care.

“Nanami!” you called, your grin wide and infectious. “Come on!”

He shook his head, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “No thanks,” he muttered, though you couldn’t hear him.

You shrugged, unbothered, and returned to your puddles. Kento told himself you were foolish, reckless, even childish, but he couldn’t look away. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved, how you jumped from puddle to puddle with abandon, each splash sending arcs of water into the air. You looked so alive, like the rain was an old friend you were welcoming home.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of recess, you finally trudged back to the awning. You were dripping wet, your uniform a mess and your shoes squelching with every step, but your grin was as bright as ever. “You missed out,” you said, shaking water from your hair like a dog. “It was amazing.”

Kento frowned, reaching into his bag and pulling out the small towel he always carried. He handed it to you without a word, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Thanks,” you said softly, wrapping the towel around your shoulders.

As the two of you walked back to class, the rain still falling in a steady rhythm, Kento found himself glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You were dripping and disheveled, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you looked… content.

That night, as he lay in bed listening to the rain patter against his window, Kento thought about you. About the way you had defied the storm, how you had turned something most people avoided into something to celebrate. He thought about your laughter, about the way it had cut through the gray and made the world seem less heavy.

For the first time, he wondered what it might feel like to step into the rain.

And though he didn’t know it then, that day planted something new in Kento’s heart. It wasn’t a neat row of sunflowers like before. This was wilder, untamed, like the storm itself. It was the start of something that would grow quietly, steadily, until one day it became impossible to ignore.

————

age 10: summer nights of fireflys

The summer seemed to stretch forever, each day warmer than the last, the sun high and unrelenting. The grass, golden and dry from weeks without rain, brushed against Kento Nanami’s legs as he sat on the edge of the porch, staring out at the quiet yard. He loved these long afternoons, when the world seemed to settle into a slower rhythm, when even the cicadas’ hum became a steady companion to his thoughts.

The evening breeze was cooler, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, and the last rays of sunlight kissed the edges of the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and orange. A perfect summer evening.

But then there was you.

Kento watched from his perch on the porch, the heel of his sneaker dragging across the worn wood beneath him, as you darted across the yard, your small form a blur in the fading light. Your hair was wild and loose, the strands catching the glow of the sun like threads of copper and gold. You wore one of those old summer dresses with little flowers on it, the hem flying up as you ran.

“You’re going to trip, you know,” he called from his spot on the porch, though his voice lacked any real heat. He knew you weren’t listening, anyway.

“Don’t be boring, Nanami!” you shouted back, without looking over your shoulder. “Come help me! They’re getting away!”

You were chasing fireflies, darting after them with the kind of joy that Kento could only admire from a distance. Your arms reached out, fingers almost touching the glowing lights before they flitted away again, your laughter ringing through the air like a bell. Kento’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of exasperation and something else bubbling up in his chest, something he couldn’t quite name.

He was always like this, wasn’t he? Watching from the sidelines. But he couldn’t bring himself to join you, not when you were so carefree, so wrapped up in the magic of the evening. His feet stayed firmly planted on the porch, while you ran wild through the yard, your giggles like music in the air.

But then you stopped, just a little bit out of breath. Your arms hung at your sides as you took a moment to catch your breath, and Kento saw you glance at him.

“Don’t just sit there!” you yelled, waving both arms at him. “Come catch them with me!”

Kento sighed, knowing you wouldn’t stop calling until he came over. He wasn’t really sure what he would do once he joined you, but you were relentless, and it was easier to give in than to ignore you.

So, with a huff, he pushed himself off the porch, his shoes scraping against the wood as he walked toward you. “Fine, but I’m not going to run around like you,” he muttered, though there was an edge of amusement in his voice. “I’ll just watch.”

You didn’t say anything at first, but your smile grew wider as he joined you in the yard, his hands tucked in his pockets. “It’s all about the surprise,” you said, a wink flashing in your eye. “You have to surprise them. Sneak up like this.” You dropped to your knees in the grass, your hands poised like a cat’s paws.

Kento knelt beside you, unsure how to mimic your movements. He was used to doing things by the book, following the rules, being patient and quiet. But the way you approached the fireflies was something else entirely. It was more like playing hide-and-seek than anything else.

“Watch this!” you said, bouncing to your feet. Then you took a slow, exaggerated step forward, crouching low as if the fireflies might somehow notice her. You reached out with one hand, and in a moment of perfect timing, you cupped a firefly in your hand.

Kento blinked, his mouth slightly open in surprise. “You got it,” he said, his voice more stunned than impressed.

“See?” You opened your hands to reveal the tiny glowing insect resting in your palm. Its tiny body pulsed with light, the glow soft but steady. It seemed to shimmer in the last bits of daylight, small enough to fit in your palm like a secret.

Kento looked at your glowing hand for a moment before he nodded. “Okay. Let me try.”

He moved his hands carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. But as he reached for one of the little lights, it darted away before he could catch it.

“Oh, no!” you exclaimed, laughing. “You scared it away! You have to be slower!”

Kento sighed, annoyed at himself. “I know. It’s harder than it looks.”

You giggled, not in a mean way, but in that way you did when you were trying to encourage him without mocking him. “It’s not hard,” you said, grinning. “Just watch me. You can do it. Don’t think too much. Just… reach out, slow and steady.”

Kento bit back a grin of his own. “Alright, alright.” He crouched down again, trying to copy your movements. This time, as his hand hovered close to one of the fireflies, he waited. The light blinked, bright against the dimming sky, and he made his move. Slowly, he reached out, cupping his hands together as you had done.

“Got it,” he said, the smile in his voice.

You cheered, jumping up and down. “See? I knew you could do it!” You pulled your hands back, showing him the tiny, glowing insect caught within his palms. The firefly buzzed softly, trying to free itself, but Kento held it gently, just tight enough to keep it safe.

For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, looking down at the tiny creature. It pulsed faintly in the dark, like a little heartbeat.

“You did it,” you said, breathless, your eyes wide. “That was amazing!”

Kento didn’t say anything at first, just letting his hands stay still, watching the way the light in his palm reflected in your eyes. You weren’t looking at him the way most people did—you weren’t waiting for him to say something clever or show off. You were just… there, in the moment with him.

“Thanks,” he said, finally looking up at you. His voice was quiet, almost shy.

You smiled, and there was something warm in that smile, something unspoken between you, as if the evening had somehow woven a secret thread connecting the two of you.

“I’m going to let it go now,” Kento said, his voice soft.

You nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

He slowly opened his hands, watching as the little firefly blinked once and then darted upward, disappearing into the night like a tiny star.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the distant rustling of the trees and the occasional soft chime of crickets in the grass. The fireflies began to thin out as the night grew deeper, but Kento didn’t want to leave yet. The moment felt too fragile, like if he moved, it might shatter.

“I’m going to go in soon,” you said suddenly, turning toward your house.

“Yeah,” Kento replied, standing up and brushing the grass from his knees. “I should too.”

You didn’t walk away immediately, though. Instead, you lingered, the two of you standing side by side, your shadows long on the grass in the dimming light.

“Goodnight, Nanami,” you said finally, your voice soft and sincere.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he replied, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As you turned and ran back toward the house, your dress fluttering behind you in the summer night, Kento watched you go. Something shifted inside him, something warm and quiet, like a secret he didn’t know how to name yet.

And for the first time, Kento realized that the fireflies weren’t the only things that had gotten away that night. He had, too—lost in the glow of your laughter, in the quiet magic of just being beside you.

————

age 13: maybe something more?

The sun was bright, almost too bright, as Kento Nanami stood in the schoolyard, his uniform pressed neatly, the edges of his shirt stiff against his skin. It was one of those mid-afternoon moments where the air felt thick with humidity, making even the simplest movement feel like a slow-motion effort. He hated the weight of it, how the sun seemed to burn into his back, leaving his skin feeling hot and sticky, despite the fact that school was over for the day.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, trying to cool his palms. The yard was filled with the usual bustle of students—some laughing, some chasing after balls, others in animated groups exchanging stories from the day. But Kento wasn’t really paying attention to any of them.

His gaze was fixed on you.

You were a few steps away from him, talking to one of the girls from your class. You were laughing at something she’d said, your smile wide and unguarded, that familiar light in your eyes—bright, wild, and completely free. Kento didn’t know why, but he found himself watching you more often lately. Maybe it was how you seemed to move through life so effortlessly, like you didn’t carry the same weight of responsibility he did, or maybe it was how you could make something as simple as walking across the schoolyard look like a kind of magic.

He swallowed hard and looked away quickly, hoping no one noticed the way his thoughts seemed to linger on you. It wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge, not just yet. Kento was always careful with his emotions, keeping them tightly locked away, like precious objects in a box. Feelings were distractions—he knew that much. They didn’t make sense, didn’t follow rules. But lately, there was a tug in his chest, something odd that stirred every time you laughed or looked his way, something that felt less like a choice and more like something inevitable.

“Oi, Nanami! What are you staring at?”

The voice pulled him from his thoughts with the sharpness of a well-aimed dart. He turned his head, only to see Gojo and Suguru standing just a few feet away, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Gojo’s expression was that of someone who’d just discovered the greatest secret in the universe, while Suguru had that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that always preceded trouble.

Kento felt his cheeks flush, but he kept his gaze steady. He hadn’t even realized they were nearby.

“I wasn’t staring,” Kento muttered, his voice steady, but his heart rate spiking ever so slightly.

Gojo rolled his eyes dramatically, stepping closer, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Oh, come on, Nanami. Don’t act like we don’t know.” He leaned in, lowering his voice as though sharing the most scandalous gossip. “You’ve been eyeing (Y/N) like a hawk for weeks now. What’s going on, huh? You like her or something?”

Kento’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his words. The teasing was sharp, but not unkind, and it stung more than it should have. Gojo’s eyes gleamed with that playful arrogance that always made him impossible to ignore. Suguru, ever the instigator, leaned in with an exaggerated expression of curiosity.

“Well, Kento? Are you going to admit it? Have you caught feelings for (Y/N)?” Suguru’s grin stretched wider, knowing he had the upper hand.

Kento couldn’t suppress the heat rising in his cheeks, and he quickly averted his eyes, looking back down at the ground, though it did nothing to quell the nervous flutter in his stomach. Was it that obvious? Did they know?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kento muttered, but there was no bite to his words. It was almost a reflex, a defense against something he wasn’t ready to face. “I’m not interested in all that.”

Suguru gave him a knowing look. “Sure, sure,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, Nanami, it’s perfectly normal for a guy to like a girl. Don’t you think it’s a little strange to keep denying it?”

Gojo snorted in the background. “What he means to say is… maybe you’re afraid of her finding out you like her. You’ve got a crush, huh? That’s so cute.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy silence. It wasn’t that Kento didn’t know what a crush was. He’d seen his classmates laugh and blush when they talked about their crushes, and he understood the concept. But somehow, hearing it applied to him made his thoughts spin. Was it really a crush? Was he really feeling that way?

He couldn’t answer them, not right away. It was as if his words were tangled up with the feeling itself—something soft and confusing that was stirring inside him whenever you were near. He didn’t want to admit it, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He hadn’t just noticed you because you were always around. No, it was something deeper, something he didn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kento muttered again, though it was a little less convincing this time.

Gojo laughed loudly, slinging an arm around Kento’s shoulders in that over-the-top, annoyingly affectionate way that always made Kento feel like a little kid again. “It’s fine, Nanami! We’ve all been there. I mean, come on, look at you. You’re practically glowing whenever you look at her. Your little ‘silent admiration’ thing is cute, but don’t you think it’s time to say something?”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Kento snapped, though the heat on his face was undeniable.

Suguru chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, we’re just trying to help. So… what’s the plan? Are you going to keep pretending you don’t like her?”

Before Kento could respond, you walked over, still laughing with your friend, oblivious to the conversation happening just a few feet away. You gave a friendly wave in Kento’s direction, and his stomach lurched in a way he didn’t understand. His heart, as if on cue, gave a little jump, and his breath caught in his throat.

“See?” Gojo whispered to him, his voice low but teasing. “You can’t even look at her without getting all flustered. That’s your cue, Nanami. You’re whipped.”

Kento could only nod stiffly, his eyes following you as you walked past, his mind a flurry of thoughts he couldn’t quiet. Was he really being obvious? Was it possible that everyone could see it, even if he couldn’t bring himself to admit it?

You smiled at him, and something in Kento’s chest seemed to tighten. The world around him seemed to fade out for a moment, leaving only the soft sound of your laughter and the memory of your smile.

“Hey, Nanami,” you called, your voice light and carefree, like always. “You going to hang out with us later? There’s a movie marathon at my place.”

For a moment, Kento just stood there, unable to form a coherent thought. You were inviting him. You were inviting him to spend time with you. And that was when it hit him—the overwhelming flood of realization. It wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just a passing fancy. He liked you. He liked you in a way that felt like something real.

And the worst part? He was terrified. Terrified of what it meant, terrified of what would happen if he told you. He was sure of one thing, though—he couldn’t hide this feeling much longer.

“You should go,” Suguru said with a grin, nudging Kento in the ribs. “She’s waiting.”

Kento barely heard him. The only thing he could hear was the quiet pounding of his own heart, louder now than the teasing laughter of his friends.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice softer than he intended.

You waved again, and for the first time, Kento didn’t feel the need to look away. He simply smiled back at you, quietly acknowledging the truth that he couldn’t deny anymore.

————

age 15: where the earth breathes life

The sky stretched endlessly above Jujutsu Sorcerer High, painted in hues of late-afternoon gold. A faint breeze swept across the training grounds, tugging at the edges of uniforms and sending whispers through the surrounding trees. Kento Nanami stood in the shade of one such tree, its branches sprawling like outstretched arms, a quiet sanctuary from the relentless sun.

His friends, Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto, were animated as ever, their voices blending into the hum of cicadas and the distant clash of training spells.

“Okay, okay, hear me out,” Gojo said, reclining against the base of the tree with his arms tucked behind his head. His infinity field shimmered faintly around him, a subtle but constant reminder of his strength. “If you had my technique—limitless and the Six Eyes—what’s the first thing you’d do with it?”

Suguru chuckled, twirling a loose strand of his dark hair between his fingers. “I wouldn’t waste it showing off like you, that’s for sure.”

“Showing off?” Gojo sat up straight, mock-offended. “I don’t show off. I demonstrate my genius. There’s a difference.”

Nanami exhaled through his nose, a small, barely perceptible laugh escaping him. He wasn’t one to get caught up in their endless banter, but their dynamic always managed to lighten the weight of the world they carried.

“And what about you, Nanami?” Suguru turned to him, tilting his head in genuine curiosity. “What would you do if your Ratio Technique wasn’t bound by limitations?”

Kento thought for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s not about pushing boundaries for the sake of power,” he said quietly. “It’s about precision. Control. Efficiency.”

“Always so serious,” Gojo teased, leaning closer with a grin. “You know, Nanami, you might actually smile if you loosened up a little.”

Before Kento could reply, the breeze shifted, carrying with it a faint, sweet scent—earthy, alive, and tinged with something floral. It was subtle at first, but it drew his attention like a thread pulling him toward something unseen.

“Do you smell that?” Suguru asked, straightening up.

Gojo sniffed the air dramatically. “Yeah, smells like…” He paused, his grin widening. “(Y/N).”

Kento froze. Your name landed like a weight in his chest, tugging at something he wasn’t prepared to confront. He followed the direction of the breeze, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure in the distance, standing at the edge of the practice field.

It was you.

You were alone, your back turned to them, your posture relaxed yet purposeful. Your hands hovered over the ground, and as Kento watched, a faint glow of cursed energy began to pulse around you. The energy wasn’t sharp or chaotic like so many techniques he’d seen before. It was soft, flowing, and alive, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

He stepped away from the tree, drawn toward you before he realized what he was doing. Gojo and Suguru exchanged knowing looks but said nothing, letting him go.

From his vantage point, Kento could see the ground beneath your feet begin to change. Where there had been only dry earth and sparse grass, something miraculous began to bloom. A single green sprout pushed through the soil, followed by another, and another, until a field of lush wildflowers surrounded you, their vibrant colors swaying gently in the breeze.

But it didn’t stop there.

With a graceful wave of your hand, vines erupted from the earth, twisting and curling as they reached toward the sky. Trees grew in fast-forward, their trunks thickening and branches spreading wide, leaves unfurling in shades of deep green. It was as if the earth itself responded to your call, breathing life into the barren space around you.

Kento’s breath caught in his throat.

He’d seen you practice before, of course. You were a gifted sorcerer, your nature manipulation technique as unique as it was beautiful. But this—this was different. There was something about the way you moved, the way your cursed energy flowed so effortlessly into the earth, that left him completely captivated.

Your face was serene, your focus absolute. Strands of your hair caught the sunlight, glowing like molten gold, and your expression—calm yet determined—was unlike anything he’d ever seen. You weren’t just commanding the earth; you were connected to it, in a way that felt almost sacred.

“Wow,” Gojo whispered from behind him, breaking the spell. “She’s something else, huh?”

Kento didn’t respond. His eyes remained fixed on you, unable to look away.

Suguru leaned against the tree, his arms crossed. “You know, Nanami,” he said, his voice teasing but quiet, “if you stare any harder, you might actually set her on fire.”

“Shut up,” Kento muttered, though there was no real heat in his words.

The vines you’d summoned began to move, twisting together to form intricate shapes—arches, spirals, and patterns so delicate they looked like lace. Then, with a flick of your wrist, the vines shot forward, striking a nearby training dummy with enough force to shatter it into pieces.

You stepped back, breathing hard, your shoulders rising and falling with the effort. The glow of your cursed energy began to fade, but the beauty you’d created remained—a lush oasis of life where there had once been only barren earth.

Kento felt something stir deep within him, a feeling he couldn’t quite name. It was more than admiration, more than respect for your skill. It was a quiet awe, a sense of wonder that left him both exhilarated and terrified.

You turned then, as if sensing his presence, your eyes meeting his across the field. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you. You smiled—a small, shy smile—and Kento felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding like the rhythm of a distant drum.

“Hey, Nanami,” you called, your voice light but steady. “How long have you been standing there?”

He opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words. How could he explain the way he felt, the way you seemed to make the earth itself come alive?

“Not long,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he intended.

You nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Just practicing,” you said, as if what you’d done was the most natural thing in the world.

Kento nodded, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He wanted to say something more, something meaningful, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he stood there, letting the silence stretch between you, filled with all the things he couldn’t say.

“You’re incredible,” he wanted to tell you. “You make the world look different. Brighter. Alive.”

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he watched as you turned back to your practice, the glow of your energy lighting up the field once more.

Behind him, Gojo and Suguru snickered quietly, their whispers lost in the breeze. But Kento didn’t care.

For the first time, he realized that his feelings for you weren’t just a passing infatuation. They were rooted deep, like the vines you summoned from the earth—strong, unyielding, and impossible to ignore.

And as he stood there, watching you shape the world with your hands, he couldn’t help but wonder if you had already shaped him, too.

————

age 16: the weight of mortality

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the ground remained slick and treacherous as Kento Nanami and you navigated the forest. The air hung heavy, dense with the clinging scent of wet earth and decayed wood. Shadows twisted unnaturally among the trees, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like broken hands.

“We should’ve run into it by now,” Kento muttered, his voice low, wary. His grip on his weapon tightened as his eyes scanned the path ahead.

“It’s close,” you said, your voice steadier than his. You knelt beside a patch of disturbed earth, fingers brushing the mud. There was no mistaking the lingering traces of malevolent cursed energy. “It’s watching us. Waiting.”

That was what unnerved Kento the most. The curse was grade one, and grade one curses didn’t wait. They attacked with reckless fury, their hatred for humanity so consuming they couldn’t hold themselves back. But this one—this one was different. It was intelligent.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, extending a hand to help you to your feet. The touch was brief, professional, but his heart still skipped in its chest.

You nodded, falling in step beside him, the soft glow of your cursed energy forming a protective aura around you. It lit the path ahead, a faint beacon against the encroaching dark, but Kento knew it was also a lure. The curse would come for it—would come for you.

And then the forest stilled.

Every sound vanished at once: the rustling leaves, the distant calls of night birds, even the faint hum of the wind. It was as though the entire world held its breath. Kento stopped in his tracks, holding an arm out in front of you.

“Kento?” you whispered.

He didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed, scanning the trees for any flicker of movement. The silence was oppressive, pressing against his ears like a scream held just out of reach. His body tensed, every muscle coiled like a spring.

Then, it came.

The curse emerged from the shadows with terrifying speed, a blur of jagged limbs and gleaming fangs. Its body twisted grotesquely, its long, spindly arms ending in claws that glistened like obsidian. Its head was almost human, but its eyes burned with a sickly yellow light, and its mouth stretched into an unnatural grin.

“Move!” Kento barked, pushing you to the side as the curse’s claws slashed through the space where you’d been standing.

The fight began in a whirlwind of chaos.

The curse was fast, faster than anything they’d anticipated. It darted between the trees, its movements erratic and impossible to predict. Kento swung his weapon, his Ratio Technique flashing as he aimed for its weak points, but the creature twisted out of reach with an agility that defied logic.

You were already in motion, your cursed energy flaring as you summoned vines from the earth. They erupted from the ground like serpents, coiling and snapping toward the curse in an attempt to restrain it. For a moment, it worked—the vines wrapped around its limbs, tightening like chains.

“Kento, now!” you shouted.

He lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The curse shrieked as the blade connected, severing one of its arms. But instead of retreating, it retaliated, its remaining claw slashing at him with feral intensity. Kento barely had time to raise his weapon to block, the force of the impact sending him staggering back.

The vines began to wither, the curse’s malevolent energy eating away at them. With a violent roar, it broke free, its twisted body writhing with rage. It turned its glowing eyes on you, and Kento felt his stomach drop.

“Get back!” he shouted, but it was too late.

The curse moved faster than he could, its clawed hand striking you with bone-crushing force. You were thrown into the air like a rag doll, your body colliding with the trunk of a tree before crumpling to the ground.

“(Y/N)!”

Kento’s voice cracked as he ran to you, his heart pounding in his chest. You lay motionless, your breathing shallow, blood seeping from a gash on your forehead. Your cursed energy flickered weakly, the once-brilliant glow reduced to a faint shimmer.

“Stay with me,” Kento said, dropping to his knees beside you. He didn’t dare shake you, afraid of causing more harm. “Can you hear me? (Y/N), look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused but alive. “I’m… fine,” you whispered, though the words were barely audible.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped, his voice trembling with barely contained panic. “Don’t move. Just stay still.”

Behind him, the curse let out a guttural growl, its twisted form shifting as it prepared to strike again. Kento turned, his jaw tightening as he rose to his feet. His body ached from the earlier blows, but he ignored the pain. He couldn’t afford to falter.

The curse lunged, and Kento met it head-on. His movements were sharp, deliberate, every strike calculated with the precision he’d spent years perfecting. But the creature was relentless, its hatred radiating from it in waves. It clawed and snapped, its attacks wild yet devastatingly powerful.

Kento ducked beneath one of its strikes, his blade slashing upward to sever another limb. The curse screamed, its body convulsing as black ichor spilled from the wound. But even maimed, it fought with a ferocity that made Kento’s blood run cold.

It was toying with him, he realized. It wanted to drag this out, to prolong their suffering.

Kento’s anger flared, hot and consuming. “You don’t get to win,” he growled, his voice low and venomous.

With a surge of cursed energy, he activated his Ratio Technique, his blade glowing with a golden light. He lunged forward, his movements swift and precise, and drove the blade deep into the curse’s chest.

The creature let out one final, ear-splitting shriek before its body disintegrated into ash.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Kento stood there for a moment, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The glow of his cursed energy faded, leaving him in the dim light of the forest.

Then he turned back to you.

You were still slumped against the tree, your eyes half-closed and your breathing shallow. Kento’s heart twisted at the sight of you, so small and fragile against the towering trunk. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over your injuries.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, his voice breaking.

You blinked up at him, your lips curling into a faint smile. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I’m serious,” Kento said, his hands finally resting on either side of your face, his touch gentle despite the turmoil raging inside him. “You could’ve died. Do you understand that?”

You didn’t respond, and for a moment, the weight of his words hung heavy between you.

“I can’t…” Kento’s voice faltered, his throat tightening. He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I can’t lose you, (Y/N). I—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

He couldn’t say it. Not yet.

Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his touch tender as he began to bandage your wounds with shaking hands. His care was deliberate, almost reverent, as if tending to you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You reached up, placing a weak hand over his. “I’m okay,” you said softly. “Really.”

But Kento shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You’re not okay,” he said. “You’re hurt, and it’s because you refuse to think about yourself. You’re always so focused on everyone else, and one day, it’s going to get you killed.”

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did,” he said, his voice cracking despite his efforts to stay composed.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Kento’s hands lingered on yours, his grip firm but comforting.

“I care about you, (Y/N),” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I can explain. So please… don’t ever do something like that again. I wouldn’t—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your smile soft and tired. “I’ll try,” you said. “For you.”

And though the words were simple, they carried a weight that left Kento breathless. He didn’t know how to tell you the depth of what he felt, didn’t know how to put into words the way you seemed to fill the cracks in his carefully constructed world.

So he stayed silent, his hands still cradling yours, silently vowing to protect you—no matter the cost.

————

age 17: gravity, giggles, and grace(or lack of thereof)

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the windows of Jujutsu High’s ancient halls, casting golden streaks on the scuffed tiles. You and Kento Nanami walked side by side, a stack of textbooks in his arms and your hands swinging freely at your sides.

“Okay, Nanami, answer me this,” you began, already grinning. “Why do you carry your books like that? Are you afraid they’ll run away if you don’t keep them in a death grip?”

Kento, ever composed, arched an eyebrow without breaking his stride. “It’s practical. Less risk of them slipping.”

You rolled your eyes. “Practical. You are the human embodiment of that word. Do you dream about practicality, too? Like, ‘Oh, what an efficient cloud formation tonight!’”

There it was—the faintest twitch of his lips. A Nanami half-smile, as rare as a sunny day during monsoon season. “I’ll have you know I’ve never once dreamed about clouds.”

“Ah, right,” you said, nodding solemnly. “Your dreams are probably about perfectly portioned bread loaves.”

Kento stopped walking, turning to you with an expression caught between amusement and exasperation. “Do you even listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Constantly,” you replied with mock pride. “It’s part of my charm.”

He let out a soft huff, adjusting the books under his arm. “I don’t know how I let myself get roped into this.”

“Because I’m delightful,” you said, spinning around so you could walk backward and grin at him. “Admit it, Nanami. Studying with me is the best part of your week.”

“I admit nothing.”

“Oh, you love me,” you teased, waggling your eyebrows.

Kento was about to retort, probably with some dry remark, but you didn’t give him the chance. Too busy laughing at your own antics, you didn’t notice the top step of the staircase behind you.

And then—gravity intervened.

Your foot slipped, and for a split second, you felt the universe itself betray you. Arms flailing, you let out a startled squeal, your body tipping backward.

“(Y/N)!” Kento shouted, lunging toward you.

It was a valiant effort, really. His arm shot out with all the precision of his Ratio Technique. But fate, or perhaps just bad timing, was not on his side. His fingertips brushed your sleeve—just enough to not catch you.

You tumbled backward down the stairs in a whirlwind of arms, legs, and increasingly hysterical giggles.

It should’ve been a scene of chaos, maybe even concern, but instead, laughter erupted from your lips as you hit step after step. “Oh noooo!” you cried between fits of uncontrollable snickering, your voice bouncing off the walls.

“Are you serious?!” Kento shouted from the top of the staircase, staring down at you in absolute disbelief. “How are you laughing right now?”

Your body finally came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, where you sprawled out like a starfish. There was a brief silence—save for your wheezing giggles—and then you erupted again, full-bodied and tear-inducing.

“Oh my—Nanami!” you managed, clutching your stomach. “Did you see that? I just—I went full acrobat mode!”

He was down the stairs in three long strides, his books abandoned somewhere behind him. Dropping to one knee beside you, Kento hovered uncertainly, his hands ghosting over your arms and legs. “Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, I’m peachy!” you replied through your laughter, flopping dramatically onto your back. “Ten out of ten! Would recommend falling down a flight of stairs to anyone!”

His lips twitched again, the corners threatening to pull into a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re the worst catcher ever!” you countered, sitting up and pointing at him accusingly. “What happened to your vaunted precision? Your super reflexes? Did you even try?”

Kento’s mouth opened in protest, but then he hesitated. “I—well—”

“Oh no, you don’t get to explain your failure!” You doubled over, laughing so hard your face turned red. “Your face—oh my God, Kento—your face when I fell! You looked like someone just insulted bread!”

That did it. A chuckle slipped past his defenses, quiet at first, but then it grew. The usually unflappable Kento Nanami let out a full-bodied laugh, deep and rich and entirely uncharacteristic.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, though he didn’t sound remotely serious.

“But it’s so easy!” you shot back, tears streaming down your face as you wiped them away.

Kento leaned back against the wall, his laughter mixing with yours in the echoing hallway. It was contagious—every time you started to calm down, one look at his rare, genuine smile sent you spiraling into giggles again.

“I still can’t believe you’re okay,” he said after a while, shaking his head in disbelief. “You fell like… twelve steps.”

“I told you, I’m made of steel,” you said, flexing an imaginary bicep. “Nothing can take me down.”

“Except stairs.”

“Except stairs,” you agreed, grinning.

The two of you stayed on the floor for a while, leaning against each other as the last remnants of laughter faded into the warm quiet of the hallway. The sunlight streamed in, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air, and for a moment, everything felt light.

“Thank you for trying to catch me,” you said after a while, glancing over at him.

He shrugged, his expression soft but unreadable. “I’ll catch you next time.”

“You better,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

And as you both sat there, side by side at the bottom of the stairs, Kento let himself relax. Your laughter was still ringing in his ears, and for the first time in a long while, he thought: Maybe the world isn’t so heavy after all.

————

age 18: the words that wouldn’t come

The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the grounds of Jujutsu High in a dreamlike light, illuminating every blade of grass, every stone, and every goodbye exchanged in hushed tones. The ceremony had concluded hours ago, the caps tossed, the congratulations shared. And yet, the air hummed with lingering anticipation, as if the day hadn’t truly ended.

You and Kento Nanami stood at the edge of the training field, where countless battles had unfolded, where victories and bruises were won in equal measure. Now, it was quiet, the echoes of sparring matches and laughter replaced by a solemn stillness.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, your voice light and teasing as always. “That’s it. We survived.”

Kento looked at you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his tall frame still and composed. But there was a tension to him, something barely concealed under the ever-present calm he wore like armor.

“We did,” he said simply, his tone even, his gaze steady.

“You don’t sound very thrilled,” you teased, nudging his arm. “Come on, Nanami. It’s over. No more grueling training sessions, no more Yaga yelling at us to get up at the crack of dawn. Aren’t you even a little excited?”

“I don’t think ‘excited’ is the right word,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Of course not. You’d probably use something like… ‘adequately satisfied with the progression of events.’”

That earned a soft huff from him—half a laugh, half a sigh. It was a sound you’d grown to love over the years, even if he didn’t realize how often he made it when you were around.

The breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby garden. You turned your face to the wind, closing your eyes for a moment and letting the cool air brush against your skin.

Kento, standing just a step away, watched you quietly. There was something about the way the light caught in your hair, the way your expression softened in the glow of the setting sun, that made his chest tighten.

“I need to say something,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You opened your eyes and turned to him, your brows lifting in curiosity. “What’s up?”

He hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. How did one even begin to explain years of unspoken feelings? How did he tell you that you weren’t just a friend to him, that you hadn’t been for a long time?

“I’ve been thinking about what’s next,” he started, his voice low but steady. “Now that we’ve graduated, things are going to change.”

“Well, yeah,” you said, leaning against the old wooden fence that bordered the field. “That’s kind of the whole point. Change is good, right?”

“Not always.”

There was a weight to his words that made you pause. Your teasing smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet concern. “Kento, what’s wrong?”

He looked at you then, his gaze searching, as if trying to find the courage he so desperately needed.

“I just… I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he said, his voice faltering slightly. “For a while now.”

You tilted your head, waiting patiently. But that was the problem—you were always so patient, so kind, and it made this even harder.

Kento exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat. How could he say it without ruining everything? Without changing the way you looked at him, the way you smiled so easily in his presence?

“You…?” you prompted, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He clenched his fists at his sides, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. For all his precision, for all his calculated movements, this was something he couldn’t master.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally, his tone clipped.

Your frown deepened. “Nanami, come on. You’ve clearly got something on your mind. Just say it.”

“I said it’s nothing,” he repeated, his voice sharper this time. But then, as if realizing he’d spoken too harshly, he softened. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your lips pressing into a thin line. “If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t have brought it up,” you said quietly.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. He hated this—the way he couldn’t find the right words, the way his heart betrayed him every time he tried to speak.

“I just wanted to say… thank you,” he said finally, though it felt like a coward’s escape.

“For what?” you asked, your voice softening.

“For everything,” he said, meeting your gaze at last. “For being you. For sticking by me all these years.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Well, yeah. Of course. What are friends for?”

Friends.

The word hit him like a blow, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a small smile. “Friends.”

You seemed satisfied with that, your usual grin returning as you reached out to lightly punch his arm. “You’re such a weirdo sometimes, Nanami. But you’re my weirdo, I guess.”

The words warmed and stung in equal measure, and all he could do was nod.

“Come on,” you said, pushing off the fence and gesturing toward the main building. “The others are probably wondering where we are.”

He followed you without a word, his heart heavy with everything left unsaid.

As you walked ahead, chatting about Gojo’s ridiculous antics or Suguru’s latest half-serious plan to prank Yaga, Kento allowed himself one stolen glance at you. The way you moved, carefree and full of light, the way your laughter seemed to fill the air—it was unbearable and beautiful all at once.

He clenched his fists, the words he couldn’t say swirling in his chest like a storm.

One day, he promised himself. One day, I’ll tell you.

But today wasn’t that day. And as much as it hurt, he knew he’d wait as long as it took.

————

age 20: the rift between us

The café was nearly empty, a quiet refuge from the torrential downpour outside. Rain cascaded down the windows, blurring the world into a wash of grays and silvers. The air inside was warm, thick with the scent of roasted coffee beans and something bittersweet—regret, maybe, or something close to it.

You sat across from Kento Nanami, your hands curled around a mug that had long since gone cold. His gaze was fixed on the table, tracing the grain of the wood as though it might tell him how to explain the mess inside his head.

“So, that’s it?” you asked, your voice low but sharp, each word a carefully aimed dart. “You’re quitting.”

Kento didn’t look up, his fingers tightening around his own mug. The coffee in it remained untouched. “I’ve made my decision,” he said finally, his voice even, too even. “This life… it’s not sustainable.”

The calm in his tone infuriated you, made the ache in your chest twist into something hotter, sharper. “Not sustainable?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly. “That’s what you’re going with? After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve built together—‘not sustainable’ is your excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse,” he said quietly, still refusing to meet your eyes.

You leaned forward, your hands trembling now, whether from anger or desperation you couldn’t tell. “Then what is it, Kento? What is this if not you running away?”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his face before his mask of composure slipped back into place. “I’m not running away,” he said, the words clipped. “I’m making a choice. A rational choice.”

“And I’m just supposed to accept that?” you shot back, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. “I’m supposed to just sit here and watch you throw everything away? Watch you throw us away?”

At that, his head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. There was something raw there, something unspoken and unsteady, and it made your breath catch.

“This isn’t about us,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “It’s about me. About what I can handle—what I can’t handle.”

“You can’t handle this anymore?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Fine. But did you even think about what this means for the rest of us? For me? Did you even consider—”

“Of course I considered it!” he interrupted, his voice rising for the first time, startling you. “Do you think this was an easy decision for me? Do you think I wanted to walk away?”

“Then why are you?” you demanded, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Because I can’t keep doing this!” he shouted, the frustration in his voice cutting through the thick air between you. “I can’t keep waking up every day wondering if it’s going to be my last. I can’t keep watching people I care about—people I love—throw themselves into danger over and over again.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The rain outside seemed louder now, a relentless drumming that matched the pounding of your heart.

“This life,” he continued, his voice quieter now but no less intense, “it’s a death sentence. You know that as well as I do. And I can’t—I won’t—let it consume me.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, your hands trembling around your mug. “So that’s it,” you said finally, your voice hollow. “You’re leaving because you’re scared.”

“It’s not fear,” he said, his tone defensive. But the flicker of something in his eyes—something vulnerable, something fragile—betrayed him.

“Then what is it, Kento?” you pressed, your voice rising again. “Because all I see right now is someone who’s running from everything he’s ever cared about.”

“I’m not running,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m trying to survive.”

“And what about the rest of us?” you asked, your voice breaking now. “What about me? Do you think I don’t want to survive too? Do you think I don’t dream about a life where I don’t have to fight, where I don’t have to wonder if the next mission will be my last?”

He didn’t answer, his silence more damning than any words he could have said.

“But I don’t get to walk away,” you continued, your voice trembling. “Because if I do, then all of this—all the pain, all the loss—it’ll have been for nothing.”

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” he said softly, his eyes pleading. “You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for a world that doesn’t care.”

“And you think the corporate world is going to care about you?” you shot back, bitterness creeping into your tone. “You think pushing papers and chasing profits is going to fill the void you’re running from?”

His face hardened, his hands curling into fists on the table. “At least it’s a life,” he said.

“Is it?” you asked, leaning forward. “Or is it just a way to numb yourself from everything you’re too afraid to face?”

The words struck like a blow, and you saw the flicker of pain in his eyes before he looked away.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the rain.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a stone. You wanted to scream, to cry, to shake him until he understood what he was throwing away. But instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to speak.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “If you’re so eager to leave, then go. But don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out what you’re running from.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice tight, his composure finally cracking.

“I’m saying I can’t do this either,” you said, standing abruptly. “I’m taking a long-term mission in the States. A year, maybe two. Maybe longer. I need space, Kento. From you, from all of this.”

His eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. “(Y/N), wait—”

“No,” you said, cutting him off. “You made your choice. Now I’m making mine.”

You turned and walked away, the sound of the rain swallowing the sound of your footsteps.

Kento sat frozen, his chest heaving, his heart pounding against his ribs. He wanted to call after you, to stop you, to say something—anything—that might make you stay. But the words wouldn’t come.

And as the door closed behind you, the weight of what he’d done crashed down on him, suffocating in its finality.

He sat there long after you were gone, the rain outside a relentless reminder of the storm he had unleashed. He told himself he had made the right choice, that this was the only way. But as the silence pressed in around him, all he could feel was the aching void where you had been.

And for the first time, Kento Nanami wondered if survival was worth the cost of losing you.

————

age 22: a call across the ages

The sun was setting on a city Kento Nanami had never intended to visit. It was a business trip—nothing more, nothing less. The skyline of Chicago stretched out in front of him, jagged and unfamiliar, a maze of concrete and glass that seemed to mirror the labyrinth inside his chest. The golden light painted everything in soft hues, but for him, the world felt muted, heavy with the weight of things unsaid and undone.

Two years. Two long, quiet, endless years since he’d last seen you. Two years since you had walked out of that café, your eyes filled with tears he hadn’t been able to stop. You had left for America, and with you, you had taken a part of him he hadn’t realized he’d given away until it was gone.

The first few months had been unbearable. He’d asked Gojo, Suguru, even Shoko, where you were, how you were doing. Every time, he was met with silence or vague reassurances that you were fine. He had stopped asking after a while, realizing that they were protecting you from him—or perhaps protecting him from himself.

Life had become a series of routines after that. Wake up. Go to work. Pretend not to miss you with every breath. But now, standing in the shadow of a foreign city, something stirred in him, a restlessness that had been dormant for far too long.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him out of his thoughts. He frowned, pulling it out to see an unfamiliar number lighting up the screen.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice steady but distant, as though the call were just another part of his endless routine.

What he heard on the other end shattered that façade instantly.

“K-Kento…” Your voice was barely a whisper, broken and raw, like shattered glass scraping against stone.

His breath caught. For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming. But then you spoke again, and the panic in your voice was unmistakable.

“Kento, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call. I—” A sharp gasp cut through your words, and he could hear your ragged breathing, the tremor in your voice that made his stomach twist into knots.

“(Y/N)?” he said, his voice sharper now, the calm businessman replaced by something far more primal. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I—I tried,” you sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I tried so hard, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it without you. I thought I could, but I can’t. Kento, it’s too much. It’s too much—”

“Slow down,” he said, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. “Tell me where you are.”

“I don’t know,” you cried, your voice trembling. “I’m hiding—I don’t even know where—there’s this curse, and I tried to exorcise it, I tried, but it’s too strong. I’m so tired, Kento. I can’t do it alone anymore. I can’t—”

His free hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he forced himself to stay calm. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll find you, (Y/N). Just hold on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice so small it made his chest ache. “I’m sorry for everything. I—I never should have left. I never should have let you go.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, his voice breaking despite himself. “Just stay with me. Keep talking. I need to know you’re okay.”

The city’s shadows grew longer as Kento Nanami sprinted through the streets, his coat billowing behind him. The call still echoed in his ears, your trembling voice, fractured and desperate. His heart felt like it had been torn from his chest, dangling by a fragile thread as he raced against time. Two years of silence, of unspoken longing, and now your voice—broken and pleading—was the only thing tethering him to the present.

His breath came fast, the ache in his legs a distant memory compared to the pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N), where are you?” His voice was sharper now, teetering on the edge of panic.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, the sounds of labored breaths and distant crashes filling the line. “It’s dark, Kento. I don’t know where I am anymore. I’m so sorry—I thought I could handle it, I really did, but it’s too much.”

“I’m coming for you,” he said, his voice low and trembling with determination. “Stay on the line. Tell me what you see.”

Another crash sounded on your end, louder this time, followed by your muffled cry. “I don’t think I can make it, Kento. I’m so tired,” you whispered, each word cracking like glass against his ears.

“Don’t you dare give up,” he growled, his voice harsh but laced with fear. “Just hold on. I’m coming, I swear.”

The line went dead.

“No!” he shouted, the emptiness on the other end making his stomach plummet. His cursed energy flared unconsciously, his body moving on instinct as he followed the faint traces of cursed energy in the air. He didn’t have time to think, didn’t have the luxury to wonder what would happen if he was too late.

He wouldn’t let himself be too late.

The abandoned warehouse loomed ahead, a decaying monolith at the edge of the city. The cursed energy here was suffocating, a rancid, tangible thing that coiled around him like smoke. He pushed forward, his teeth gritted, his body tense with anticipation.

Inside, the dim light barely illuminated the chaos. Splintered wood and shattered glass littered the floor. The walls were smeared with dark, claw-like marks. And then, he saw you.

You were crumpled in the corner, your body trembling, your hands pressed weakly against the ground as if trying to summon cursed energy you no longer had. The faint glow of your nature manipulation flickered and died, and a monstrous, hulking curse loomed above you, its grotesque form pulsating with power.

“(Y/N)!” he yelled, his voice cracking as he rushed toward you.

Your head lifted weakly, your eyes dazed and unfocused. “Kento…” you murmured, your voice so soft it barely reached him.

Before he could reach you, the curse lunged. Its claws sliced through the air, forcing him to dive to the side. He rolled to his feet, his cursed energy crackling around him like lightning as he turned to face the creature.

“You don’t touch her,” he growled, his voice low and filled with fury.

The curse roared in response, its twisted form shifting as it charged at him. Kento met it head-on, his blade slicing through the air with precision honed over years of practice. Sparks flew as the curse’s claws met his weapon, the impact sending shockwaves through the room.

The fight was brutal, every strike a test of his endurance, every movement a desperate attempt to keep the curse away from you. His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down his face as he fought with everything he had.

But the curse was relentless. It struck with terrifying speed, its claws narrowly missing his chest as he dodged and countered. Blood splattered across the ground as one of its strikes grazed his arm, the pain sharp and immediate.

“Kento…” your voice, faint but urgent, pulled his focus.

He glanced back at you, his heart clenching at the sight of your pale, trembling form. The curse took advantage of his distraction, its massive arm swinging toward him. He barely managed to block the blow, the force of it sending him skidding across the floor.

For a moment, he faltered. The weight of the fight, the fear of losing you, pressed down on him like a crushing tide.

Then he saw you, your eyes locked on his, a flicker of trust and desperation in your gaze. And something inside him snapped.

With a roar, he surged forward, his cursed energy exploding around him in a blinding burst. He struck the curse with everything he had, his blade cutting through its grotesque form like a scythe through wheat. Blow after blow, he fought with a ferocity that surprised even himself.

Finally, with one last, devastating strike, the curse disintegrated into nothingness, its screams fading into the stillness of the warehouse.

Kento turned to you, his chest heaving, his body trembling from the effort. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uncertainly before finally resting gently on your shoulders.

“(Y/N),” he said, his voice breaking. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Your eyes fluttered open, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “You came,” you whispered, your voice so weak it was almost inaudible.

“Of course, I came,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’ll always come for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you tried to speak. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have let you go. I—I thought I could do it on my own, but I can’t. I can’t do anything without you.”

His breath hitched, his chest tightening as the weight of your words settled over him. “Don’t you dare say that,” he said, his voice firm but filled with emotion. “You are the strongest person I know. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I’m here, (Y/N). I’m here.”

You reached out, your hand trembling as it brushed against his cheek. “I missed you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “Every day, I missed you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as tears slipped down his face. “I missed you too,” he said, his voice shaking. “More than you’ll ever know.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, the words he had kept locked away for years finally breaking free. “I’ve loved you for so long, (Y/N). Since we were kids, since the moment I realized how incredible you are. Every smile, every laugh, every moment we’ve spent together has been etched into my heart. And when you left…” His voice cracked, and he took another breath, his hands tightening on your shoulders. “When you left, it felt like I lost a part of myself. But I was too much of a coward to tell you.”

Your tears fell freely now, your gaze locked on his as you listened to every word.

“I don’t deserve you,” he continued, his voice soft but resolute. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for the time we lost. I love you, (Y/N). I always have, and I always will.”

You let out a soft, choked laugh, your tears mixing with your smile. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve loved you all this time too, you fool. How could you not see it?”

Kento felt his heart stop at the words, like a dam breaking free of its restraints. The words he had kept buried for years, those painful truths that he never allowed himself to speak, were now spilling out, mingling with the soft echoes of your confession.

“You—” His voice wavered as he looked down at you, disbelief still playing in the edges of his mind. He never imagined this moment would come like this. But there you were, staring at him with eyes full of tenderness, the very same gaze that had haunted him for so long, and now it was his. All his. “You’ve loved me all this time?”

You nodded, your face crumpling slightly as you leaned into his touch, the warmth of it sending a wave of relief crashing over both of you. “Yes. I’ve loved you. I’ve been a fool for thinking I could do it without you. And when you left… when you turned away from the sorcery life… I thought maybe I had lost my chance to tell you how much you meant to me. I thought maybe we were better off apart.” You winced, the truth spilling out raw, as it always did when one was faced with their deepest fears. “But I realized I was wrong. So wrong. Life doesn’t make sense without you in it, Kento. I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not by my side.”

The words hung between you like a delicate thread, and with each passing second, that thread grew stronger, binding you together in a way that nothing else could. Kento’s fingers trembled as they brushed against your skin, pulling you closer in a desperate but tender motion. His hands were shaking, as though he were unsure if this was a dream, unsure if he had finally found his way back to you after years of wandering in the dark.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I don’t want to live in a world without you either,” he whispered, his breath shaky. “It’s like… like something was always missing. Every day, I felt it. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t find the right words. And when you left, I thought maybe I was better off alone. That maybe the life I’d chosen would be enough to bury what I felt.” His voice cracked, and his grip on you tightened. “But every time I thought about you, I realized I was wrong. I can’t live like that. I can’t be without you, not for a single second. You are my world, (Y/N). You’ve been my world for so long, I never knew how to tell you.”

Your hands found his, your fingers intertwining with his as you held on to each other like you might disappear if you didn’t. The air around you was thick with the weight of your confessions, with the unspoken years that had passed in silence, with the tension that had built between you like an unspoken promise. Now, those words you had both held back for so long were finally released, and it was like the entire universe had shifted.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner. For not realizing it sooner. All this time, I thought I was doing what was right for us, for our futures. But I was wrong.” His breath caught in his throat. “I should’ve been with you, (Y/N). I should’ve been by your side.”

You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his. “No, Kento. No apologies. We were both lost, weren’t we? We were both afraid to speak the truth. Afraid of what it might mean. But now… now we have each other. We’ve found our way back.”

His eyes searched yours, wide with a mix of astonishment and hope. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time again, as if everything he had lived through, every hardship and every silent plea, had led him to this very moment. He felt your heartbeat beneath his hands, steady and strong, matching his own. And, for the first time in years, he felt a sense of peace. A sense of belonging that he hadn’t known since the day he’d let you slip away.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice quiet but certain, like a promise made in the depths of his soul. “I love you, (Y/N). More than I ever thought was possible. More than anything. You’re the one I want. You’re the one I’ve always wanted.”

Your heart swelled at the words, the depth of his confession breaking through every wall you had built. “I love you too, Kento,” you breathed, the weight of the years, the heartache, and the loneliness melting away. “I’ve always loved you.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the truth sink in, a soft exhale escaping him. When he opened them again, he saw you—his (Y/N), his everything, the only person who had ever truly understood him. The only person who had ever been able to bring the storm inside him to rest.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he promised softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Not again. I won’t let you leave me again.”

You smiled, your heart blooming in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Kento. Not this time. Not ever again.”

As the words echoed in the quiet space, time seemed to slow. All the uncertainty, all the regrets, all the lost years fell away. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, standing in the ruins of everything that had tried to pull you apart. And as you stood there, hands clasped tightly together, hearts beating in sync, the curse of the past, the weight of the unspoken, was broken.

For once, it was simple. There were no barriers, no walls, no reasons to keep your distance. The only thing that mattered was the truth that had been there all along—the love between you, undeniable, eternal.

And as Kento pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go, he whispered once more, his voice full of wonder, of everything he had never dared to hope for.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I always will.”

And in your arms, you whispered back, your voice soft but strong. “I know, Kento. I know.”

————

age 23: a promise in the garden

The garden was alive in a way that felt almost magical, golden light streaming through the sprawling branches of the ancient oak tree. The air carried the faint hum of life—the rustle of leaves, the soft buzz of insects, and the scent of blooming flowers swaying gently in the breeze. It wasn’t the overgrown wilderness it had been when you were children, nor the empty, desolate space it had become during your years apart. Now, it was vibrant, flourishing—a living testament to patience, hope, and love.

Kento stood beneath the oak, his hands in his pockets, watching as you stepped into the clearing. Your footsteps slowed, then stopped entirely, your gaze sweeping across the scene. The flowers you’d planted together as children were still there, their colors more radiant than ever—wild yellows, purples, and whites scattered among neatly tended beds. The tree’s gnarled roots stretched like a crown beneath it, embracing the earth you’d dug into with small, determined hands so many years ago.

“Kento…” Your voice was soft, almost reverent. “How… how is this possible? It looks—”

“Alive,” he finished for you, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “It’s alive now.”

You turned to him, your expression full of wonder, though your brows knit slightly with confusion. “Did you… do this?”

“I did,” he admitted, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was an edge of something else beneath it—nervousness, anticipation, a depth of emotion he could barely contain. “It wasn’t easy. But for you… for us… it was worth it.”

You blinked at him, your eyes softening. “For us?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly on the words.

His hand reached for yours, enveloping it in a warmth that steadied you. He led you to the base of the oak tree, to the small weathered bench that had been there for as long as you could remember. The two of you had sat on that bench countless times—laughing, dreaming, arguing, and, in the quietest moments, simply existing side by side.

The weight of the years pressed down on you as you both sat. For a long moment, there was only silence, broken by the faint rustle of leaves overhead. Kento looked out at the garden, his gaze far away, as if he were sifting through the memories that lingered here.

“This place,” he began, his voice quiet but certain, “has always been ours, hasn’t it? Even when it was nothing but weeds and brambles, it felt like… like it belonged to us.”

You nodded, your fingers brushing over the edge of the bench. “It did,” you agreed. “Even back then, I could see it. The potential. I knew it could be beautiful if we just tried.”

He turned to you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve always been able to see things I couldn’t. You looked at this place, at me, and you saw something worth saving.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet reverence in his voice. But before you could respond, he continued, his gaze dropping to the patch of flowers you’d planted so long ago.

“I think that’s when it started for me,” he said softly. “When I realized how extraordinary you were. How you could bring life to things that seemed beyond saving. I didn’t understand it back then. I just knew I wanted to be near you, to see the world the way you did.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with years of unspoken truths. You felt your heart ache with the weight of them, the quiet sincerity in his voice leaving you breathless.

“We’ve come a long way since then,” he continued, his voice dipping into something deeper, more vulnerable. “We grew up, faced things no one should ever have to face. Missions, losses, mistakes…” His voice faltered, his hand tightening slightly around yours. “And then I walked away. I thought it was the right thing to do, the practical thing. But leaving this life—leaving you—was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And the worst.”

You swallowed hard, the memory of those years apart rushing back like a tidal wave.

“When I heard your voice that day in the States,” he said, his tone quieter now, “when I thought I might lose you…” He broke off, his jaw clenching as he struggled to steady himself. “I realized then what I should’ve known all along. That you’re everything. That you’ve always been everything.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and you turned to him, your voice trembling. “Kento…”

But he wasn’t finished. He stood suddenly, his hand slipping from yours as he moved to the base of the oak tree. His fingers brushed over the bark, his touch reverent, as if he were grounding himself in its solidity.

“This tree has been through so much,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Storms, winters, years of neglect. And yet, it’s still here. Still standing.” He turned to you, his eyes soft but resolute. “It’s like us, in a way. No matter what’s tried to tear us apart, we’ve always found our way back. We’ve always stood through it.”

He gestured to the flowers at the tree’s base, their vibrant colors glowing in the golden light. “And these… they’re proof that even the smallest acts of love can grow into something lasting. Something beautiful.”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, pulling something from his pocket. The small velvet box in his hand seemed to glow in the fading sunlight, the sight of it sending a wave of emotion crashing over you.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “I know our lives will never be simple. There will be battles we can’t avoid, losses we’ll have to endure. But I also know this—whatever time I have, I want to spend it with you. I want to stand by your side, to face everything together.”

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve given me so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Your patience, your kindness, your belief in me… I don’t deserve any of it, but I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of it.”

He opened the box, revealing a ring that was simple yet radiant, its design a quiet reflection of everything he felt.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I should’ve said it years ago, when we were kids planting flowers in the dirt. I should’ve said it every day since. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it with everything I am—I love you, (Y/N). I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I’ll keep loving you for as long as I have.”

Tears streamed down your face as he held the ring out to you, his hand steady despite the weight of the moment. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The garden, the oak tree, the flowers—all of it seemed to lean in, waiting for your answer. Finally, you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

Relief flooded his face, and he slid the ring onto your finger with care. When he stood, you threw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could.

“I love you,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice trembling with the depth of your emotion. “I’ve always loved you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “And I’ll love you for the rest of my life. However long that may be.”

The words hung between you, bittersweet and beautiful, a quiet acknowledgment of the dangers that still lay ahead. But in that moment, beneath the oak tree and surrounded by the garden you’d built together, the future felt distant, almost irrelevant.

For now, there was only this: two hearts, battered but unbroken, promising to face whatever came next—together.

————

age 24: yes now and forever

The morning was one of hushed anticipation, as if the world itself held its breath for the event to come. Soft rays of golden sunlight streamed through the windows of the venue, casting dappled patterns across the stone floor. It wasn’t an opulent cathedral or a grand ballroom; it was a small, ivy-covered chapel nestled in the countryside, its charm lying in its quiet beauty. The ancient oak tree they had planted so many years ago stood just outside, its branches adorned with ribbons and lanterns. Around its base, wildflowers bloomed—a living testament to her magic, their love, and the journey that had led them here.

Inside, chaos brewed as friends bustled to prepare for the ceremony.

“Where’s Nanami?!” Gojo shouted from the chapel hallway, holding up a pair of sunglasses like they were a crucial piece of the wedding puzzle. “I need to give him my trademark advice before he ruins his life—I mean, begins his new life!”

Shoko rolled her eyes, perched on the edge of a pew, sipping champagne from a flask. “The only advice you’re giving is how to be insufferable for eternity. Leave him alone, Gojo.”

Suguru leaned against a wall, smirking. “Pretty sure he’s too busy freaking out to listen to you. My money’s on him crying when she walks down the aisle.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shoko chimed in. “Man’s a softie. He’s gonna lose it the second he sees her.”

“You’re all underestimating me,” Kento grumbled as he entered, adjusting the cufflinks on his impeccably tailored gray suit. The tie was perfect, the pocket square precisely folded, but the man himself looked like he was barely keeping it together.

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “You’re sweating.”

“I am not.”

Gojo slapped him on the back with an exaggerated laugh. “Nanamin, it’s okay! I cry every time I look in the mirror. Today, it’s your turn.”

Kento glared at him but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he glanced toward the closed doors at the far end of the chapel, beyond which she was preparing. His stomach churned. He hadn’t even seen her yet, but the weight of the day—the promises they were about to make—was overwhelming.

In the bridal room, (Y/N) was surrounded by her closest friends, who busied themselves with last-minute touches to her gown and hair. The dress was stunning in its simplicity—white as freshly fallen snow, with vines and blossoms embroidered into the bodice and train. The design was an homage to her abilities, subtle yet unmistakable. Her veil was a delicate gossamer, pinned in place over a braid adorned with tiny flowers she had grown herself.

“Relax, (Y/N),” Shoko said, expertly applying the final stroke of eyeliner. “You’ve fought grade-one curses. You can handle saying ‘I do.’”

“I’m not nervous about that,” she murmured, her voice soft but tight with emotion. “I’m nervous because… this feels like a dream. What if it’s too perfect?”

“Perfect?” Gojo poked his head into the room uninvited, earning a chorus of groans. “Nanami’s in the other room, looking like he’s about to hurl. Trust me, it’s not perfect yet. You will be.”

Shoko shoved him out, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him. You’re gorgeous, and this day will be perfect because it’s yours.”

(Y/N) smiled, though her hands trembled as she adjusted the lace on her dress. “Thank you, all of you.” She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, inhaling deeply. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The chapel doors opened, and the entire room turned to look at her. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, but Kento didn’t notice anyone else.

His breath caught the moment he saw her. His usually composed demeanor crumbled as tears welled in his eyes. She looked like a dream—no, she looked like the most tangible, real thing he had ever known, a manifestation of light and love walking toward him.

“Holy crap,” Suguru whispered from his side.

Gojo nudged him. “Called it.”

Kento’s lips parted, his eyes glistening, but no words came. He didn’t even realize the tears slipping down his cheeks until Suguru handed him a handkerchief.

(Y/N) caught his gaze and smiled, her own eyes misty. Step by step, she came closer, and with every step, Kento felt his heart swell, nearly breaking with every heartbeat. The world fell away, and there was only her—only the woman he had loved for so long, in every quiet moment and in every tumultuous battle.

When she reached the altar, her eyes never left his. Kento didn’t know if he could keep standing, his knees weak as if they might give out at any moment. But somehow, he stayed rooted, his hand trembling as he held out his palm for hers. She took it with a smile so tender it felt like the beginning of everything.

The officiant’s voice barely registered in Kento’s ears as he stared at her, his pulse racing. He couldn’t believe this moment was real. It felt like a dream he had never dared to hope would come true.

When it was time for the vows, the silence hung heavily between them, the air thick with meaning.

(Y/N) smiled softly, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes never leaving Kento’s. She took a deep breath, her voice quivering with emotion but steady in its resolve.

“Kento,” she began, her voice like a prayer, “for years, I have lived a life filled with chaos and strife, yet you have always been my constant. You’ve been the calm in every storm, the one person I’ve trusted with my heart, with my fears, and with all of me. You’ve shown me love in ways I didn’t think were possible. And in return, I vow to spend every day of my life showing you the same love, the same support, and the same devotion. You have given me your heart, and now, I give you mine. No matter what the future brings, I am yours, always.”

Kento’s eyes glistened, and his hands tightened around hers, his throat tight with emotion. He had never expected this, never expected to be here, with her, in this sacred space that seemed to transcend time itself.

When it was his turn, he almost couldn’t speak. His voice wavered as he began, his eyes never leaving hers.

“(Y/N), for as long as I can remember, I’ve been afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of loving too deeply, afraid of losing the one person who means everything to me. And yet, here you are, standing before me, and I know—I know—that I was wrong to be afraid. You are my heart, my breath, the reason I push forward even when everything seems dark. I’ve been given so many chances to tell you this, to let you know just how deeply I care, and I’ve always hesitated, always been too afraid to admit what was right in front of me. But I’m not afraid anymore. I stand before you today, telling you with every ounce of my being, that I love you. I will love you every day for the rest of my life, no matter what comes our way. And I will be here, with you, beside you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

The room was silent, holding its collective breath, as Kento’s words settled into the air. His tears fell freely now, a testament to the years of unspoken emotions, to the weight of all the times he had longed for this moment but could never quite bring himself to claim. But now, here he was, and he would never take it for granted again.

And then, as the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Kento leaned down, his hands cradling her face with such reverence that it made her heart ache. When their lips finally met, it wasn’t a simple kiss; it was a promise, a culmination of everything they had endured, everything they had fought for, and everything they would become together.

The reception that followed was a whirlwind of love and laughter, a celebration so full of joy that it felt like time had slowed, as though the universe had conspired to make this one day eternal.

The hall was alive with music, its golden chandeliers casting warm light over the gathering of family and friends. Gojo, as expected, was the life of the party, making grand speeches and trying to get everyone to join him in embarrassing dance routines.

“Come on, Nanamin!” Gojo shouted over the music, dragging Kento onto the dance floor. “You’re married now! You’ve got to dance, or I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“Not even if I beg?” Kento deadpanned.

“Nope!” Gojo grinned mischievously. “Now twirl your wife, or I’ll make a speech about how amazing your moves are.”

(Y/N) laughed, slipping her hand into Kento’s and pulling him toward the center of the dance floor. The moment they began to move together, the world seemed to fall away once more, their laughter blending with the music as they swirled beneath the shimmering lights.

Suguru, who was never one to shy away from a joke, stood nearby, an amused smirk on his lips as he clinked his glass to get their attention. “Now that’s a love story, folks. What I want to know is, who’s going to teach me to dance like that?”

Shoko rolled her eyes. “There’s no hope for you, Suguru. You’re all posture and no rhythm.”

“Hey, I’m all rhythm,” Suguru retorted, eyes glinting with challenge. “I just need the right partner to prove it.”

Laughter erupted around them, the joy of the evening spilling over into every corner of the room. But even in the midst of the lighthearted chaos, there was a quiet serenity between Kento and (Y/N). They weren’t just married—they were finally living the dream they had once thought was too far out of reach.

The night went on, each moment becoming a memory etched in their hearts, a story they would tell their children one day. As the last song played and the guests began to filter out, Kento and (Y/N) stood together beneath the oak tree, bathed in the soft light of the moon.

“I never thought we’d get here,” (Y/N) said softly, her hand slipping into his. “I used to wonder if it was all a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Kento replied, his voice hushed but sure. “It’s real. And I’m here, with you, forever.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her heart full, her body tired but content. She had everything she had ever wanted. And in this moment, surrounded by love and laughter and the promise of a future together, she knew that the journey was just beginning.

And as they stood there, in the quiet of the night, the future stretched before them, a beautiful, endless road, paved with love, laughter, and every step they would take together, side by side in the beautiful life they had built together.

————

age 26: a slice of peace

It had been a long day—too long, if you asked Kento—but when he stepped through the door of their cozy home, the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little. The soft glow of the living room lights, the aroma of something simmering in the kitchen—it was everything he needed after a day spent surrounded by curses, chaos, and endless meetings.

Kento hung his jacket on the back of a chair, loosening his tie as he crossed the threshold. He was met with a familiar sight: (Y/N) standing at the stove, her back to him, humming softly to herself as she stirred something in a pot. The sound of her voice—however quiet—was like a melody to his ears, a reminder that after every battle, there was peace. And peace, it seemed, was always found with her.

“You’re late,” she said, her tone playful but somehow still teasing, even though she didn’t turn to face him.

“Am I?” Kento raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Sorry. I had to deal with a particularly stubborn curse today. It didn’t want to die—or follow orders.”

She laughed softly, turning to glance over her shoulder. “I don’t blame it,” she said with a wink. “If I had to face you all day, I’d want a break too.”

Kento’s lips twitched into a smile. He could never resist her teasing. It made everything feel light, like they were in their own little world—a world far removed from the heavy responsibility of being sorcerers. “Are you cooking again?” he asked, knowing full well she was. (Y/N) was always the one who made their meals, though it had started as a joint effort. Over time, she’d made it clear that she enjoyed it more than he did, and he, in turn, had enjoyed the results.

“Obviously,” she replied, her voice full of playful confidence. “I figured since you’re so great at taking down curses, I should balance things out by feeding you.”

He chuckled as he made his way into the kitchen, catching the faint scent of garlic and herbs in the air. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs balancing. You’re the one who’s been feeding me perfectly every night, making me gain at least five pounds from your cooking.”

“Who’s counting?” she teased, waving her hand dismissively. “At least you’re not the one who accidentally set off the fire alarm three days ago.”

“That was one time,” he protested with mock indignation, though he knew she was right. (Y/N) had made a batch of cookies, and they had almost set the kitchen ablaze because she’d gotten distracted by the latest mystery novel she was reading. “Just a little smoke. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? Kento, I think the neighbors thought we were hosting a fire drill.”

“I think they were just worried the smoke was coming from the neighbor’s apartment, not ours,” he teased, stepping behind her to take a look at whatever she was cooking. “What’s for dinner, then?”

“Beef stew,” she said with a smile. “With extra carrots—since I know you like them so much.”

He bent down to kiss her cheek, his lips brushing her skin lightly. “I’ll take it. Just don’t make me go for seconds… I might need to squeeze into my suit for that charity gala tomorrow.”

She gave him a mischievous look. “Are you trying to tell me I’ve been feeding you too much?”

“Maybe…” Kento smirked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “But I’m not complaining. In fact, if it weren’t for your food, I’m pretty sure I’d be too thin from all those sleepless nights we’ve had recently.”

(Y/N) shook her head fondly, her hair catching the light as she moved. “You’re impossible,” she said softly, but there was warmth in her voice. “You’re impossible and perfect, and you know it.”

A silence stretched between them, comfortable and steady, like the calm before the storm. Kento watched her for a long moment, his gaze softening. There was something about the way she moved, so graceful, so at peace in their home, that made everything in him feel steady. This was their life now—quiet moments like these, after the chaos of work, before the next battle, before the storm.

She glanced back at him, catching the look in his eyes. “You’re staring at me again,” she said, raising an eyebrow, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I can’t help it,” Kento replied, pushing off the counter to stand next to her. “You look beautiful, even when you’re just cooking dinner.” His voice was quiet, and there was an edge to it, the kind that only came when he was being serious, when he didn’t try to hide how much he loved her.

She turned to face him fully now, a slight blush coloring her cheeks, but there was something else in her eyes—something more intense, more profound. “Stop making me blush,” she said, trying to play it off, but her voice was softer than usual, more vulnerable. “You know how much I love you too, right?”

Kento didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against hers. The moment felt eternal, like the world was paused around them, just for a second. There was no curse, no mission, no threat hanging over them—just the simple, steady rhythm of their breathing and the warmth of their connection.

“You make everything feel like it’s worth it,” Kento said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was rougher than usual, filled with emotion. “The world is chaos, but I’d face it all over again—if it meant getting to come home to you. You… make this life worth it.”

She smiled at him then, the corners of her lips curling up into a soft, knowing grin. “You’re sappy sometimes, you know that?”

“Only for you,” Kento teased back, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “And only because I’ve got you figured out. You make me want to be better… just by being you.”

(Y/N) laughed softly, her head tilting back in that way that always made his heart swell. “And you make me want to stop burning things… just by being you.”

Kento grinned and pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. She melted into him, her warmth seeping into his bones, as they swayed together to an unspoken rhythm that only they understood. This was life now—peace after the storm, home after the chaos, simplicity in the face of all the complexities of their world.

After a few moments of silent contentment, (Y/N) broke the calm with a mischievous grin. “So… when are you going to admit that you’re hopelessly in love with me?”

Kento chuckled and placed a soft kiss on her lips, his hands resting at the small of her back. “You already know the answer to that.”

She tilted her head in mock curiosity. “Oh? And what’s the answer?”

He smiled, his eyes full of affection and tenderness, his voice low and sincere. “I’m madly, irrevocably, and completely in love with you. But you already knew that.”

Her lips twitched with the tease of another smile, and she leaned in for a kiss, letting it linger just a moment longer than usual. “Well, I guess I’ll have to keep you around, then.”

“Oh, I plan on staying,” he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. “And I’m never leaving.”

For once, they didn’t have to fight curses or fear the world beyond their door. The peace, the love they’d cultivated, was enough. They were enough. And in this small kitchen, with flour in their hair, the faintest scent of burnt cookies still lingering in the air, everything was as it should be. Perfect in its imperfection.

They spent the rest of the evening together, laughter and love filling the air—before the next mission, before the next challenge. For now, they had each other, and that was everything.

————

age 27: what if?

The air had grown heavier with each passing day. The world of jujutsu sorcerers, for so long a constant whirlwind of curses, danger, and conflict, had finally reached a new precipice—a moment where the known threats no longer made sense. As they all gathered at the table in the heart of the Jujutsu High’s war room, it felt as if something far darker, far deeper, had begun to stir once more.

Kento Nanami stood at the head of the table, his usual calm demeanor softened only by the tension in the air. His fingers drummed idly, a rhythmic, almost involuntary gesture as he pondered their situation. He glanced around at the others, each of them readying themselves for a battle they hadn’t been prepared for.

For months, rumors had spread. Whispers in the underground world of jujutsu had suggested something sinister was in the making. But even those who had the most insight into the curse-riddled world hadn’t anticipated the return of Suguru Geto—or, rather, what Suguru Geto had become.

The once-esteemed ally had become a dark force, someone who sought to tear down everything they had built. His alliance with Mahito, the twisted curse that had wreaked havoc on their lives, had sealed their fate. The two were no longer isolated threats—they were a unified front, hell-bent on reshaping the world.

Kento wasn’t alone in his thoughts. (Y/N) sat beside him, her posture upright and composed, yet her eyes betrayed the storm brewing in her chest. There was no denying the severity of the situation. They had fought together for so long, weathered every storm, but this felt different. This wasn’t just a fight for survival; this was a fight for their very way of life.

A tense silence settled over the room as the sorcerers gathered, all awaiting Gojo’s entrance. When he finally did arrive, it wasn’t with his usual exuberance—his confident smile was absent, replaced by a heavy seriousness that sent a ripple of unease through the group.

“Alright,” Gojo began, his voice steady but tinged with an edge of concern. “I know we’ve all been trying to prepare for this day. Suguru’s been on the move. Mahito’s been gathering power. And now they’ve come together in a way none of us expected.”

The room fell even quieter, if possible. Kento’s gaze never wavered, his focus sharp on Gojo as his former teacher continued, detailing the threat they now faced.

“What we’re looking at now isn’t just another curse,” Gojo said, his voice dropping a notch, becoming more serious. “Suguru’s intentions are clear now. He wants to reshape the world—our world. But this time, he’s not working alone. Mahito’s power has evolved. He’s no longer just a dangerous, unpredictable force; he’s something else entirely.”

(Y/N)’s grip tightened around her coffee cup, the usual quiet fire in her eyes flickering as the gravity of the situation set in. Kento reached over and gave her hand a subtle squeeze, his own thoughts swirling with dark uncertainty. They’d fought so many battles together, faced impossible odds, but this? This was different. Suguru Geto had always been a threat, but now, he was a living nightmare.

“Mahito’s power—his manipulation of souls—has become much more sophisticated,” (Y/N) spoke up, her voice calm but heavy with the weight of the truth. “He’s learned how to twist souls even more efficiently, and Suguru… Suguru has learned how to weaponize that power for himself.”

Kento felt a deep chill settle into his chest. Mahito’s ability to reshape souls was already something that they had struggled to combat, but hearing that he had grown even stronger made Kento question if they were truly prepared for the coming fight. His mind replayed the last battle they had fought against Mahito, how terrifying and grotesque his curse had been then. The thought of facing him now, knowing his abilities had only grown, sent a shiver down his spine.

“The problem isn’t just their power. It’s their coordination,” Gojo added, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Suguru and Mahito are working together in ways we haven’t anticipated. If they’re allowed to continue unchecked, they’ll tear through the sorcerers—and worse, they’ll start targeting civilians.”

Kento’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t just about fighting curses; it was about defending everything they had worked for. The lives of innocents, the future of Jujutsu High, and the very stability of their world were at stake. But even with all their power, even with their best strategies, the reality was becoming clearer: Suguru and Mahito were far more than anyone had prepared for.

“They’ve taken steps to turn the tide in their favor,” Kento muttered, his mind churning as he thought of their next move. “But we can’t let them gain any more ground.”

“Agreed,” (Y/N) said, her voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Suguru and Mahito think they have control over the cursed energy—but we can’t allow that to happen. If they manage to manipulate the energy the way they want to, it will be chaos.”

Gojo stood up straighter, his eyes flashing with determination. “We’ll hit them before they can make that move. But we need everyone on this mission. We need to be smarter than we’ve ever been before.”

Kento felt his pulse quicken. This wasn’t just another cursed spirit to hunt. This wasn’t an ordinary mission. This was a war.

“What’s our game plan?” Kento asked, trying to stay focused amidst the rising tension.

“We need to break their alliance. That’s the key,” Gojo explained, his mind working quickly. “We split them up. Isolate them. Mahito thrives on chaos, and Suguru on control. If we separate them, they’re not as strong. But we have to act fast.”

(Y/N)’s gaze sharpened, and Kento could see the determination in her eyes. She was ready, just as he was. They had faced impossible odds before, but this? This felt different. This felt personal.

Kento had never doubted their ability to win, but this time, there was an eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach. Suguru and Mahito weren’t just enemies—they were harbingers of a new, terrifying age of curses. And this time, they were ready to break everything down.

As the meeting adjourned, Kento stood, his mind racing through strategies, his heart thundering in his chest. (Y/N) caught his eye, and the unspoken bond between them flared with intensity. They were in this together. They always had been. And though the threat before them was greater than anything they had encountered, Kento knew, in the quiet recesses of his heart, that they could face it.

But even as his thoughts aligned with hers, the bitter truth began to creep in. They were staring at a war, and wars often had no victor.

The day of the battle was swiftly approaching, and as the sorcerers gathered their forces, the weight of the situation settled over them all like a thick fog. Suguru Geto and Mahito were no longer the isolated threats they once were. They were a force, united in their plan to reshape the world of jujutsu sorcery, and the heroes that stood against them had to act quickly.

Kento and (Y/N) stood side by side, preparing for the fight of their lives, knowing full well that their victory might come at an unimaginable cost. When they arrived home, the tension was almost a living thing.

The tension that hung in the air as Kento Nanami and (Y/N) prepared for their battle felt suffocating. Every passing moment seemed to stretch into eternity. They had fought together countless times, against curses of all kinds, but this… this was different. This was a battle against the very fabric of the world they had sworn to protect. This was a war against the forces of destruction that threatened to tear apart everything they knew and loved.

They stood in the quiet of their shared space, the soft hum of the lights and the distant sound of voices in the other rooms of the compound the only things breaking the silence between them. The night was quiet, too quiet, as if the entire world was holding its breath. It was in moments like these, when the weight of what they were about to face hung over them like a stormcloud, that the unsaid things began to creep to the surface.

Kento turned to (Y/N), his usually composed demeanor flickering with a hint of something deeper. Something unspoken.

“What if we don’t make it out of this?” he asked, his voice low but clear. The words hung in the air, heavier than any curse they had faced before.

It wasn’t like Kento to voice his doubts. He had always been the steady one, the grounded one, the one who gave others strength when they needed it most. But this was different. The weight of the situation had begun to erode the walls he had so carefully built around his heart. He needed to know—needed to understand—if this was it. If this was the end of everything.

(Y/N) looked at him, her gaze intense, searching, as if she, too, could feel the tremor of uncertainty that was quietly shaking the foundations of their resolve. The world outside was preparing for battle, but in this room, in the space they had created together, it was just the two of them and the unspoken fear they each carried.

She took a deep breath and stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his. “What if we don’t? What if this is the last time we see each other?” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. “What if this is the end of everything we’ve built?”

Kento’s heart clenched at the sound of her words. He had never been one to indulge in what-ifs. He had always focused on the mission, always believed in the future they could create if they fought hard enough. But the reality of what they were facing now was different. There were too many unknowns, too many variables they couldn’t control. Too many things that could go wrong. And the possibility of losing (Y/N)—the woman who had become his anchor, his everything—was a thought too painful to bear.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “About what happens if we don’t make it through? About the things we’ve left unsaid? The things we might never have the chance to say?”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable as she let his words settle. She had always been strong, always able to keep her emotions in check, but in this moment, with the reality of the threat they faced so close, the façade slipped just enough for Kento to see the vulnerability she rarely allowed to show.

“I think about it every day,” she admitted softly, her gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. “I think about the things we could have said… the things we should have said. But I also think about the things we’ve done, the life we’ve built. What if we never get the chance to… to have more time? What if this is the last memory we make together?”

Kento’s breath caught in his throat. Her words echoed in his mind, her quiet vulnerability striking him to his core. He had always been so certain, so steadfast in his resolve to protect those he loved. But now, in the face of this unknown, he couldn’t escape the nagging doubt that perhaps he hadn’t done enough. Perhaps he hadn’t said enough. Perhaps they hadn’t had enough time.

“(Y/N), I—” Kento started, but the words faltered on his tongue. What could he say? How could he express everything he had kept buried for so long? He had always been so careful, so calculated with his feelings, but this… this was different. This wasn’t a mission. This was his heart on the line.

Her hand squeezed his gently, the touch grounding him. “Kento, we don’t know what the future holds. We never have. But we’ve always fought together. And no matter what happens tomorrow, I want you to know…” She paused, her eyes locking with his, her voice steady but filled with an emotion that left him breathless. “I don’t regret a single moment of this. Of us.”

The sincerity in her voice—so raw, so full of love—made Kento’s heart ache with a longing he had tried to ignore for so long. He had always held back, always buried his emotions behind duty and responsibility. But with (Y/N), he had learned to open up, to trust, to be vulnerable. And now, in this moment of uncertainty, all he wanted was to hold on to that trust, to hold on to her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice breaking with the weight of the truth. “I can’t imagine a world without you in it. I’ve spent so much of my life thinking I had to protect you, thinking I had to keep you safe, but I—” He stopped, unsure of how to continue, unsure of how to express the depth of his feelings.

(Y/N) reached up, her fingers brushing the side of his face, her touch gentle and comforting. “Kento, I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, we’ve been through too much to let this be the end.”

A silence hung between them, the unspoken promise in her words sinking deep into his heart. They didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. They didn’t know if they would survive the coming battle, if they would make it through the storm that was about to crash down on them. But in that moment, standing together in the quiet of their shared space, they both understood one thing: they had each other.

And that, in the face of everything that lay ahead, was enough.

Kento drew her into his arms, holding her tightly, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he tried to steady his racing heart. He knew the coming battle would be unlike anything they had ever faced, but for now, in this moment of calm before the storm, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her embrace.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Kento whispered against her hair, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. “But I know that I can’t face it without you. I’ve never needed anyone more than I need you.”

(Y/N) smiled, a soft, knowing smile that spoke of years of shared battles, of late-night talks, of love that had grown so strong it had become the very foundation of their existence. “And you never will,” she replied, her voice filled with the same determination. “We’re in this together. Always.”

The silence between them felt sacred, a moment of peace before the world would demand everything from them. As the weight of the war loomed large on the horizon, Kento and (Y/N) allowed themselves this brief respite. Because no matter what came next, they knew that as long as they had each other, they could face anything.

And perhaps, that was all they really needed.

As the night stretched on, the sorcerers prepared for the battles that lay ahead. But for now, Kento and (Y/N) allowed themselves one last moment of peace—a quiet conversation, a soft kiss, and the certainty that no matter what happened, they would face it side by side.

————

age 28: the final stand

The streets of Shibuya were eerily silent under the bloodshot sky, the moon half-hidden by the suffocating clouds that rolled over the city like an endless tide. Shattered glass crunched beneath the soles of boots. The usual hum of city life had been swallowed whole, replaced only by the distant echoes of battle—snarls, curses, and the constant reverberating thrum of cursed energy. The city had fallen into chaos.

Kento Nanami’s breath came in uneven gasps as he pressed forward, his eyes flickering over the chaos. The air was thick with cursed energy, the dark, corrosive force tangling with the very fibers of the world around him. His fingers gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, knuckles white, his every move sharp and precise. And beside him—always beside him—was (Y/N), her dark eyes gleaming with determination, her hands weaving through the air, bending the earth and the wind to her will.

It was a beautiful thing, the way she controlled nature. How the trees seemed to bow to her, how vines erupted from the cracked ground like the earth itself was alive—alive with her power. She was a force of nature, unstoppable and fierce. The thought of her had always kept him going, in every mission, every battle. And in this one? In this hellish night? She was his anchor. His world.

And yet, as the fighting wore on, he saw it—saw the cracks in her resolve, the way her shoulders hunched a little lower with each strike, each breath growing more labored than the last. Her power, magnificent as it was, came at a cost. The earth, it seemed, was exhausted as well.

“Don’t push yourself,” Kento’s voice was gruff, a hint of panic creeping in as he shot a glance over his shoulder, meeting her eyes for only a moment before turning back to the front lines. “We need to pull back.”

But she was already casting again, her arms sweeping the air as the ground cracked open beneath her feet, plants rising to form barriers, blades of grass becoming whips, branches of trees turning into spears of unyielding nature.

“We can’t stop now,” she said, breathless but unyielding. “We have to end this. For everyone.”

Her voice trembled as she spoke, but her eyes remained firm. They locked for a moment, as if sharing a silent vow: they would make it through. They had to.

But the world had other plans. The moment she cast her final spell—a wall of twisting, gnarled branches and vines—there was a shift. A cold gust swept through the air, and Kento’s heart skipped a beat. The trees… they weren’t just twisting. They were bending, breaking, and snapping in a violent, unnatural rhythm. Her energy was draining faster than he could keep up with.

Behind them, a curse—a towering abomination of shifting shadows and jagged, broken limbs—crept from the blackened streets.

“Y/N!” Kento’s voice broke as he turned to face her, a shiver of dread crawling up his spine.

Her body trembled with the strain, but she pressed forward, bringing the earth beneath her to life with the last of her strength. And then the creature charged, its massive clawed hands outstretched.

“NO!” Kento screamed, rushing to intercept, but it was too late.

The creature was upon them in an instant, its claws tearing into the earth, and in a blur of motion, it swept her off her feet. Her scream echoed through the air, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound, as the curse’s claws raked across her side. Blood stained the earth, and Kento’s heart shattered in that instant.

“(Y/N)!” His voice was raw, hoarse, barely a whisper as he lunged toward her, his sword raised to strike. But the curse was faster, its claws digging deeper into her flesh as it pinned her to the ground.

The earth she had so desperately controlled began to falter, the vines curling up as if recoiling from the monstrous presence. Her body convulsed, the energy she had fought so hard to control draining from her with each tortured breath.

Kento could feel his chest tighten, as if something inside him was slowly being crushed. Time slowed in that moment—her blood, so dark against the dirt, her body so small and fragile in the creature’s grasp.

She met his eyes, her lips curling into a pained but fond smile. “I love you,” she whispered, barely audible through the suffocating storm around them.

“Don’t—” he began, but he never finished. The monster’s claws descended again, sharper, faster, and with an inhuman screech, it pierced her body.

The world seemed to collapse around him.

Her scream was silenced by the gurgling, choking sound that escaped her lips as her body was impaled. She was still smiling, through the agony, her eyes locked with his, even as the life slowly drained from her.

“No… please… no…” His voice cracked as he dropped to his knees, reaching out toward her. But he couldn’t get close enough.

Her hand reached for him, shaking, but the weight of the curse was too much. The earth she had commanded refused to rise, her power fading faster than she could fight it. And in the final moment, she was gone.

Her body went limp, her eyes closing as the curse ripped her from him.

Kento’s scream tore through the air, raw and guttural, as he watched her slip away.

It felt like his soul had shattered, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t let her go, even as her body was ripped to pieces before him.

And then, before he could move, before he could even gather his bearings, a cold presence loomed behind him.

Mahito. Jugo.

The two curses stood before him, their faces twisted with cruel delight.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Mahito’s voice was smooth, mocking, as if everything about this moment was some twisted joke.

Kento gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he reached for his sword. He couldn’t let them win. Not after all this. Not after her.

But he knew he was too late.

Mahito’s cursed energy wrapped around him, tightening like a vice, while Jugo’s immense power loomed behind.

“You should have stayed out of this, Nanami,” Jugo said with a low growl, before lunging at him with terrifying speed.

The fight was brutal.

Kento’s sword clashed with Jugo’s fist in a flurry of sparks and violence, but his body was already worn down, his mind shattered from the loss of (Y/N). His strikes were slow, weak, and he knew—he knew—he wouldn’t survive this.

Mahito stood back, watching with that sickening, twisted grin as Kento fought, desperately, to stay alive.

But the world had abandoned him.

Jugo’s next strike hit Kento square in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Blood stained his lips, but even as he struggled to breathe, the pain, the agony, the heartache—it all felt so familiar. She was gone.

And just like that, in that moment of anguish, Mahito moved in for the kill. His fingers brushed against Kento’s forehead, and Kento felt the chilling touch of the curse wrap around his soul.

In that moment, Kento realized what he had been fighting for, what he had always fought for. It had never been just survival. It had always been for her. And now, as the world faded, as the pain and the blood mixed together, all he could think of was the life he never got to share with her.

Mahito’s laughter echoed in his ears as he faded into darkness. His body went limp, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he let go.

And then there was only silence.

As Kento’s body lay still on the cold, unforgiving ground, his thoughts were scattered. They drifted to her—the only thing that mattered now, the only one who had ever mattered.

Her face, her smile, her laugh… All the memories that had once been so vivid now felt like they were slipping away, like smoke dissipating into the night air. His heart, which had once beaten for her, now lay heavy and silent within his chest. The world he had fought so desperately to protect, the mission he had once lived for—none of it mattered. Not without her.

The weight of that truth was crushing, but at the same time, there was a strange peace in it. He had failed. But in the end, he had given everything for her.

His consciousness began to fade as the cursed energy of Mahito wrapped around him like a shroud. The darkness crept in, inch by inch, until there was nothing but an emptiness he could no longer fight. The sounds of battle—the distant screams of curses, the clash of swords—dissolved, becoming a faint hum. And just as the light of the world blinked out before his eyes, one single image remained.

Her face. Her eyes.

He saw her, not broken or bleeding as she had been when he last laid eyes on her, but alive. Smiling, her hand reaching for his as she always did, her warmth, her essence filling his soul.

For a moment, he felt a flicker of something—something gentle, something soft—as though her spirit had reached out to him. She had been the light that guided him, the anchor in the storm, and in the end, he had followed her, reaching out for her even in death.

And then, as the world finally went black, Kento Nanami’s last thought was simple, pure, and filled with longing:

I’m coming for you, Y/N. Wait for me.

The cold night air stretched on, silent now, save for the flickering embers of the chaos that had consumed Shibuya. The curses were no more, their twisted forms scattered like broken toys across the battlefield. The city, in its death throes, was still. The streets that had once been so full of life were now empty. A hushed, sorrowful calm had fallen over it, and the earth mourned its bender and her lover.

————

an eternal love

Kento’s first breath in the afterlife wasn’t a breath at all. It was something far deeper, something that swirled in the very essence of his being, as though his soul had been waiting for this moment all along.

At first, everything was nothing. Blank, vast, and weightless. The kind of silence that presses into your ears until your thoughts blur. But then, a glimmer.

A soft light appeared on the horizon—a soft, golden glow, like the first rays of dawn kissing the earth after a long, dark night. His feet, though weightless, moved instinctively toward it. There was no pain. No burden. No scars. Only warmth and the promise of something that had always been missing.

As he stepped forward, his heart—still tethered by the love he had once known—began to beat again. He felt it as a quiet thrum within his chest, a comforting pulse that reassured him everything would be okay. That everything already was.

And then, as the light grew clearer, he saw her.

Y/N.

She stood there, bathed in soft gold, the light wrapping around her like a halo, but not in a way that seemed distant or unreachable. She was tangible. Real. Breathing in the same rhythm as him, as though they’d never been apart.

Her hair, once torn and tangled from battles, now flowed freely in a gentle breeze, like a field of flowers dancing in spring. Her eyes—those beautiful eyes that had always seen him—were more radiant than he had ever imagined. She stood tall and strong, no longer a broken soul but a piece of the very heavens themselves.

His breath caught in his throat, even here. The very sight of her, her existence—this moment—felt like a dream he had fought so long for. But it was real.

Her eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, time paused.

She smiled—oh, how she smiled, and it was a smile that reached deep inside him, threading its way through the soul he thought he’d lost. It was the kind of smile that, in its simplicity, made everything right again. It said everything they had never said, everything they never needed to.

She stepped toward him, her pace slow, deliberate, each movement graceful as if the space between them could never be fast enough. He didn’t wait. He moved toward her as well, almost desperate to close the distance, but this time—this time, he wasn’t afraid.

When their hands touched, it was as though the entire world breathed in at once. Their fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the universe. Her skin was as warm as it had always been, but there was a lightness in it now—a peace that hadn’t existed before. She wasn’t a warrior anymore. She wasn’t the person who had been dragged through a life of curses and bloodshed. She was simply Y/N, and she was perfect.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Kento whispered, his voice rough, a silent tear slipping down his cheek. It was a tear not of sorrow, but of relief. Because here she was. Here, with him, in this place that wasn’t an ending, but rather the beginning of something far more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

She laughed softly, a sound that filled his chest with a warmth that he hadn’t known in life. “You never lost me,” she said, her voice as soft as the wind, carrying a truth that wrapped around his heart. “I’ve always been here, Kento. I was never truly gone.”

And it was then he understood.

This was not an afterlife of sorrow or regret. This was peace. This was the love they had fought for, the love they had lived for—eternal, unbroken. In this place, there was no time. No distance. No fear.

They stood together, in a quiet serenity that washed over them, knowing that their souls had always been tethered, even in the darkest of moments. Their hands were still entwined, their bodies close as they both took in the purity of this moment.

Kento pulled her closer, his chest resting against hers, his arms wrapped around her like she was the only thing that could ever make sense of the world. His heart ached in the most beautiful way, full of longing and love. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to completely sink into the peace she offered.

“Y/N,” he whispered again, this time his voice barely audible, “I don’t ever want to leave this place. With you, I’ve found everything. And if I could’ve told you sooner… how much I loved you… I would have.”

She pulled away slightly, her hands resting on either side of his face, her eyes full of softness, understanding. “I knew, Kento. I knew,” she said, her voice a melody that soothed his soul. “In every moment, I knew. And now… now we don’t need words anymore. Because this… this is our forever.”

And forever it was.

They stayed there, in the quiet of the afterlife, no longer burdened by time or fear. Every moment they shared was a memory woven into the very fabric of their being, a new chapter of their love story written in the stars above.

It was in the way their fingers brushed against each other, how the world around them stood still, as though even the universe itself honored their bond.

Kento didn’t need to speak. There was no need to confess, not anymore. Their love had never been about words or promises—it had always been about being together, despite everything the world had thrown at them. And now, here, in this place of peace, there was nothing to fear. Only each other.

They walked side by side, their steps light and effortless, no longer weighed down by the struggles of their past. There were no curses to battle, no wars to fight. In this place, there was only love.

Their love, eternal and pure, would echo through the cosmos, like a soft whisper carried on the wind.

And for the first time, Kento Nanami knew that everything had always been leading to this—this moment, this peace, and this love that would never fade. He’d choose her love and their story forever, and ever, and ever again.

thank you so much if you read all of this!!! im not so sure if i like it but at least its out there. feedback and suggestions are always appreciated! and if you see typos, no you didnt! also i take requests(please i yearn to write). much love💕💕

[country-n-sassy]

Random thoughts of the day....

As I'm becoming more and more frustrated about not finding a job, I have noticed some similarities between applying for jobs and finding "the one."

First the resume, I can't seem to get past this stage because I don't have a degree. No credit at all for the fact that I have over 9 years of actual work experience in the position (which is more years than someone sat in a classroom learning how to do the job). Nope, no piece of paper, you don't check the box.

Hmmmm, well, I'm old, fat, and unattractive, which is basically the cover letter for dating, so - declined.

When I have made it to the phone interview, the HR recruiters love me and push my resume to the hiring managers, only to get the "we have decided to pursue other candidates" decline. I have NO idea what boxes I didn't check because there's no feedback, and I've been given no opportunity to showcase myself.

When given the chance to date someone, I get shut down quickly, too. Again, there is no feedback or communication, just the "I'm not sure what I want right now" (ak, I'd like to pursue other candidates) or just flat out ghosted. Which, by the way, is the highly immature and droves me crazy. I'm definitely a country girl, I'm not the polished politically correct thing that is gonna look good on your arm, so again, I didn't check the box.

I know for a fact that if the employers would give me a chance, they would have NO regrets. I am dedicated, work hard, and believe in team and company success. But, I'm not given that chance because I don't check the boxes (don't get me wrong, I'm not perfect and I have tons to learn, but I LOVE learning and doing a good job - seems hard to find these days).

When it comes to dating, I'm never given the opportunity to "be the one" because the guy will choose to settle for the one who checked the boxes, before taking a chance on the one who would do anything to make all his wildest dreams come true (both inside and outside of the bedroom), treat him like a king and do everything in her power to give them a happy, but probably not "traditional", life.

I don't want to be the one that can fill the spot, I want to be the one you take a risk on because you know it will pay off. Therefore, I'm pretty confident I'm going to be single forever. However, I'm not giving up on the job hunt yet...

Anyway, just my random thoughts for the day. I'll probably delete this later since I seem to get people messaging me telling me how THEY are the one for me, and I'm an asshole for not giving them a chance. I don't know how many times I have to tell people that I don't chat, maybe theres a reason for that. Don't assume that you know me just because you like my page.

I'm just venting.